Ginger Tea and Trickery
by Old English Game
Summary: Maintaining balance between work and - more work - can be a challenge. Now more than ever, the mission takes top priority. But, even if his men do have to come second, Colonel Hogan can make the time for them. K plus for swearing
1. Chapter 1

"Given the timing, we do have a few minutes leeway, in case Major Hochstetter arrives early or Klink leaves late, or something else goes wrong," Kinch didn't stop talking as sudden pelting coughs backed his words - they came all too often to pause for them - but when he finished his sentence he looked over at the perpetrator, "Cough not getting any better, Cohen?"

The Jewish boy shook his head and took another sip from the mug in his hands.

Newkirk raised an eyebrow, "It's sure takin' you long enough to shake it. You're going to run us Englishmen dry of our ginger tea."

A miserable nod and an apologetic shrug.

Colonel Hogan nodded his sympathy before drawing his men's attention back to the map laid out before them on the common room table, "Okay. Barnes, Davis, you know what you're doing?"

A nod, "We're the diversion on the east side of camp, Colonel. At 22:00"

"Behind the guards' Barracks number 8," Colonel Hogan said, and the two confirmed with a nod,

"Alright. Garlotti and Joseph?"

"We're the diversion on the west side of camp," Garlotti said, and Joseph grinned conspiratorially, "At 22:05."

"Broughton and Addison are," Hogan pointed towards the pair with his pencil.

"Jamming the door shut on the rec hall," Broughton finished his sentence, "With this," He held up a little wooden piece, not much larger than his thumb but built to jam the bottom of the door, and also disappear out of sight when somebody finally busted the door open.

"Good. Newkirk and Baker are ready to get Herr Hiedler into disguise down in the tunnels, after he is pulled down there by Carter and myself," Another point with the pencil, "LeBeau is making dinner, Kinch is helping. Olsen is serving. Foster, you and Cohen are supposed to be distracting the guard on the rec hall," Hogan frowned at Foster, perched on his bunk, and Cohen, looking quite miserable and quite not up for saving the world below him, "Can you handle that yourself?"

"Sure, Colonel," Foster nodded confidently, and then looked down at Cohen, "I mean, unless you'd like to come cough on Beckenbauer."

Cohen had leaned up against the bunkpost and let his eyes drift shut, and grunted a small, barely audible acknowledgement that set him coughing again.

When the fit had passed, Hogan asked, "What'd the medic say about that, Cohen?"

Cohen opened his mouth, and then shut it and sighed. And winced. And looked at Broughton, who had accompanied/dragged Cohen (who was decidedly _not_ a fan of doctor's visits) to the infirmary.

"Says it might take a week or so, but he shouldn't get any of us sick since we had it already," Broughton said. Everyone shuddered. That had been a miserable week, "Lots of tea. He also told me to tell you specifically that if you sent Cohen out on a night like tonight he'd be over here and he wouldn't be happy," It had been freezing lately, part of the reason Barracks 2 had caught the cold anyway.

Hogan nodded, taking that advice to heart. Even if he could ultimately pull rank, nobody liked going up against Sergeant Wilson, "Alright. Cohen, you're making sure the bunk doesn't blow away," He said. There was a pretty awful draft coming from a hairline crack on the wall by his bunk, and Hogan had half a mind to get the kid to move to another bunk, but unfortunately it was nearly just as cold anywhere else in the hut.

"Uh-uuuh," He forced one eye open and smiled weakly at the Colonel.

"Good kid," Hogan said, "Alright, men, watches," He looked at his, "9:28."

A series of grunts as men fixed their watched, "In three, two - now."

Several soft clicks.

"Good," Hogan nodded, "We've been over this. This is a big mission, I'm not going to say that it could mean a lot of lives. Because it does mean a lot of lives, period. We pull this off and a lot of good men are going to get to go home when this whole damn thing is over. We blow it… we may very well be staring down the wrong end of a rifle. This is tight, there's a million different things that could go wrong, but we're going to pull it off. Alright," He nodded, "Move out."

Broughton and Addison went first, and then Foster, and steadily the others left the building, not a word was spoken.

Hogan watched them go,until the barracks was silent, nearly empty save for he and Cohen.

He glanced at his watch. Still a few minutes until he headed over to Klink's quarters.

"Cohen?" He whispered, nudging the boy softly. He'd fallen asleep, face pressed into the bedpost, "Oh, brother," Hogan took the mug from his hand and set it aside. Then, careful to support his head, he eased Cohen back onto the bunk.

"Umm?" He startled awake, blinking through watery eyes, one hand starting to shove out.

"Shush, it's just me. Go back to sleep."

Cohen mumbled something, and then curled up on himself.

Hogan tucked the blankets around him - he had several, he was the only one who needed them anymore, and Klink was too stingy to let them keep very many extra - the kid was still in his coat and uniform, for crying out loud. He tugged off his boots and Cohen stirred again.

"'nks."

"Sure, kid," Hogan nodded "Stay warm, okay? A lingering cold's one thing, pneumonia's a whole 'nother ballgame."

"Mmmm," He mumbled, "Careful, Colonel," The words were barely audible, and his voice died at the end, and he buried his chin in the blankets.

"Always, Corporal," Hogan patted his shoulder and left the barracks, shutting the door quietly behind him.

**Author's Note:**

**I may or may not continue this story. I mostly wrote it to include the other members of Barracks 2, whom I have been planning stories for.**

**Hiedler was the name of Hitler's grandfather - history lesson time! Johannes Georg Hiedler, Hitler's grandfather, disappeared not too long after Alois was born to Anna Schlicklgruber. He reappeared 30-something years later with the surname Hitler, and finally admitted Alois was his. Thus, Alois Hitler grew up with the name Schlicklgruber (I'm not even sure if I'm spelling that right), which a group of Anti-Nazis tried to pin on Hitler in the 30s, since, said with a Southern German accent, it sounds a bit naughty. Also, Hitler's parents (Alois Hitler and Klara Poelzl) were cousins. I read this in William L. Shirer's "The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich". Shirer was a correspondent who lived in Germany from 1925 to sometime after the war was over.**

**Hope you liked it!**


	2. Chapter 2

**May have forgotten to mention in Chapter 1 that I don't own these guys. Hope you like it!**

In the shadows outside the rec hall, Hogan saw Broughton and Addison lingering around the corner of the building. Foster, identified by the neatly combed blond hair shining under the moon, strode boldly up to the guard. He saw a pair of shadows sneaking through to the guards' side of the camp.

As he ascended the steps of Klink's quarters, the savory scent of the kitchen reached him. Oh, he could smell it, steak and vegetables and mashed potatoes… real coffee. And was that tea? Hiedler must be a tea guy.

He knocked lightly before pushing the door open, "Kommandant? Herr Hiedler?"

Klink leapt to his feet, trying at the last second to hide the fact that he'd startled, "Colonel Hogan. We're just about to start. Sit down, please," His voice was just barely tense with the fact that Hogan had better behave himself.

Hogan sat down, "Herr Hiedler," He nodded, "Your stay here at Grand Ole Stalag 13 has been pleasant, I hope?"

"Not terrible," Hiedler wasn't a particularly well-built man, although it was probably a stretch to call him fat. He looked like he hadn't slept properly in weeks, which was probably the truth. He eyed Hogan suspiciously.

Hogan turned to his meal, "Long ways from home, is it?"

The conversation continued, on such mundane things as travel and places to see and things to do, mostly between Hiedler and Klink since Hogan wasn't familiar with much of Germany. Of course, he hadn't really been invited to dinner to make conversation, just to sit there and look cowed.

He glanced surreptitiously at his watch. _Any time now._

"And you know the wildlife is so -," Klink's rambling was suddenly cut off by the blare of an alarm.

All three leapt up, "An escape!" Klink exclaimed, "Wait here, Herr Hiedler, I will return shortly," He ran for the door, grabbing his coat.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, Hogan turned to Hiedler, "Hiedler, then? Any relation to that Charlie Chaplin knockoff?"

"Do not speak of him like that," Hiedler said steelily.

Hogan rolled his eyes, at the same time Klink's furnace swung aside and Carter popped up.

Hiedler's eyes widened and his mouth opened, "Guar-mm!" He was cut off as Olsen clamped a hand over his mouth.

Hogan grabbed his arm, "Come on, Carter."

The American grabbed his feet and started to tug him down, but Hiedler lashed out, squirming away.

"Kinch!"

Kinch, just coming out of the kitchen, grabbed the candlestick sitting on the end table, swinging it hard at the man's head.

Hiedler collapsed.

Carter winced, "Ouch."

"That's what he gets," Hogan shrugged, hauling him up, "I think he could stand to lose a few pounds."

Carter pulled him down, "Alright. Thanks, I guess."

As Hogan shoved the furnace shut again, he heard a pitiful groan, and then, "Aww, shuddup!"

He smirked a little, and turned to the wine bottle sitting in the bowl of ice, "Come on, boys, let's celebrate."

"We got to do it in the kitchen," Kinch said, "LeBeau won't leave his soup."

Hogan smiled and waved them ceremoniously into the kitchen.

As they were savoring their first glasses, another alarm went off. There were Garlotti and Joseph. Hopefully the kid would be okay - Hogan had to admit he was a little uncertain about sending Joseph on an escape attempt, he'd never done it before and despite the fact that they did have many of the guards in their pockets, it only took one man to fire a gun. But Garlotti was with him, and the two were thick as thieves - as were Barnes and Davis, the other escapees. They'd take care of each other. Broughton and Addison had a simple job, really, one could have done it, but the rec hall was a distance from the Barracks and it was easier for two to sneak than one - if one was almost caught, the other could draw attention their way, and vice versa. Newkirk, Baker and Carter would be doing fine, he doubted Hiedler would put up too much of a fight - Kinch was their boxer, but that wasn't to say the others couldn't also knock the man out flat. He'd feel a little bit more confident about Foster's role if he had Cohen with him, but the man was a preacher. He could talk the guard's ear off if he had to, and he had to. Speaking of which -

"LeBeau, you ought to grab some ginger or honey while you're in here," He said, "For Cohen."

LeBeau took a deep swig of his wine - despite his ramblings about savoring good cuisine, he seemed to prefer it in quantity over quality, "_Oui, _I have," He pointed to a small pile of things set on the counter, "Ginger, honey, some tea and sugar. And cumin."

"Cumin helps with coughs?" Kinch asked.

"No," LeBeau shook his head, "That's for me."

Just then they heard gunshots.

Hogan sprung up, almost spilling what was left in the bottom of his glass, "Something went wrong."

"What do we do?" Olsen exclaimed.

"Stay here," He ordered, and ran out the door. Which side of the camp had it come from?

"Hey!" He saw the two shadows standing in the lee of the building run up to him.

"Broughton, Addison, where'd they come from?" He asked.

Addison pointed east, and Hogan took off, "Get Foster and get back to the barracks, both of you."

All the searchlights were trained on the area, and Hogan pushed past the rifles that automatically went his way, "Let me see my men," He snapped.

"Hogan!" Klink growled, and spun around, "What are you doing here?"

"We're okay, sir," Davis said, and Hogan's heart slowed down. A bit.

"You're clutching your bloody arm," He said dryly, "How bad is it? Is it still in there?" He gingerly pulled Davis' fingers away but he gripped it tighter.

"Just grazed it, sir," He was pale, "It'll be okay."

"Go get that stitched up," Hogan ordered, "Barnes, go with him." Maybe if they were out of sight, Klink might forget?

No such chance.

"Absolutely not!" Klink snapped, "Schultz, escort him to the infirmary. You -," He jabbed a finger at Barnes, "Are going straight to the cooler! And your friend will be joining you as soon as his wound is stitched up. Langenscheidt, bring him to the cooler."

Langenscheidt reluctantly tugged Barnes away.

Klink glared, and then looked back at Colonel Hogan, "Back to your barracks, Hogan." He turned to stride away.

"What about dinner, sir?" Hogan put in politely.

Klink stopped, turned, and glared at him, "Shut up."


	3. Chapter 3

Hogan entered the barracks, shut the door, and took one moment. He leaned back against the door, closed his eyes, and sighed deeply.

He only got a moment, though, because the next he was surrounded by people.

"What happened?"

"Are they okay?"

"We heard the shots."

"We've got Hiedler down in the tunnel, sir," Finally Baker, voice of reason, spoke up.

"Okay," Hogan shook his head and moved to the table, "All right. Everyone's alive," He said first.

"Alive as in okay, or alive as in someone's got a bullet in their chest but got lucky?" Broughton asked.

"Davis was grazed, but he's fine. He and Barnes, plus Garlotti and Joseph, are in the cooler," Hogan said. It was a sore loss, but that had been the plan, "Kinch, LeBeau and Olsen ought to be here any -," He broke off at the sudden coughing fit from Cohen's bunk.

Foster moved to his bunk, propping the boy up, "Easy breath, Ezra," He said, as Broughton passed him the mug, "Come on."

Hogan watched, concerned, as Cohen steadily regained his breath, "He's getting worse?"

Foster nodded, "Havin' a tough time breathing, Colonel," He said softly.

Cohen bobbed his head in agreement, taking a slow sip of the tea. He frowned tightly, and then weakly smiled a thanks.

"Alright, lay down," Foster tucked the blankets back around him and then rested his hand against his forehead, "Shoot, he's fallen asleep already," He stood up and sighed.

"Burning up?" Hogan asked. Foster nodded, "Great," He frowned. Pneumonia in a prison camp could be deadly, "We'll have to have Wilson get another look at him tomorrow," He looked up as the door swung open and Kinch, LeBeau and Olsen entered.

"Boy, Klink wasn't very happy," Olsen smirked, "We told him he'd gone out for a walk, like we planned, Colonel."

"Great job, fellas," Hogan smiled.

LeBeau unbuttoned his coat and the mysterious lumps underneath spilled onto the table, "We went shopping," He said.

"But there wasn't any cashier," Kinch quipped, "So we just left."

"_Oui,_ service is horrible these days," LeBeau admonished, "Here, we got some ginger and honey for…" He trailed off and looked at Cohen, "_Mon Dieu,_ is he worse?"

"Yeah," They nodded.

"Thought he was doin' better," Olsen frowned.

They shrugged.

"It doesn't help that it's freezin' cold in here, and all we got for it is ginger an' honey," Broughton motioned towards LeBeau's "groceries" and Addison nodded his silent agreement, "Plus he wasn't very healthy to begin with."

"Lovely prison camp diet," Baker sighed.

Hogan shook his head, "Well, as long as at least one person will wake up if he needs help, he should be okay until Wilson takes a look at him tomorrow," He stood up, "You guys all did great today - I'm going to head down below, be up in a few minutes for merry ole Hochstetter."

Kinch followed him down the tunnel, where Newkirk sat by the radio.

"Did you touch my radio?" Kinch asked suspiciously. As far as Newkirk and the radio went, Kinch was about as relenting as a mother bear protecting her young - fitting, considering their code name.

Newkirk rolled his eyes, "Relax, Kinch, I've not laid a finger on it. Just thought someone ought to be around in case London called," He looked up at Colonel Hogan, "Hochstetter'll be here soon, sir, he'll be looking for you."

"I know," Hogan nodded, "I'm just checking on things quick." He strode into the next room, where Herr Hiedler was bound tightly to a chair in the center of the room, in the uniform of an American airman. Hogan couldn't help but notice they'd picked the most uncomfortable chair in the tunnel to bind him to. Carter sat near the door, pistol held loose in his hand. His expression watching Hiedler was murderous, but he quickly donned a bright smile when Hogan came in.

"Hiya, Colonel! Was everything okay? I heard shots."

"Yeah, everything's been fine," Hogan looked at Hiedler, whose face was turning red. He didn't want to say anything about the bad points in front of him, "All according to plan."

Hiedler's face turned darker.

"I think he's gonna explode," Carter said giddily.

Hogan shook his head, "I'd like to see that," Some of the things London had hinted at in this man's head… he would like to see that, "Alright. I gotta get back up."

He climbed up, "Hochstetter here yet?"

Baker, on the door, nodded, "Heading into Klink's quarters. Funny, he doesn't even know anything's wrong but he looks pretty mad."

"Well he can't help it,"Newkirk and Kinch climbed up from the tunnel, "His mother told him if he made that face too much it'd stick."

"Mother's always right, isn't she," Hogan shook his head admonishingly, "Well, we all set for a surprise inspection? Plenty of not-incriminating contraband hidden around?"

"We've got several stolen bills of German money in Newkirk's mattress, a radio in my footlocker, a half dozen digging spoons in the bottom of the laundry basket," LeBeau said, "And etcetera."

Hogan smiled, "Good. They'll be over here in a minute."

Sure enough, not a minute later Hochstetter exploded into the room - no need for his men to do it for him, "Tear this place apart," He ordered curtly, "Colonel Hogan, I know you are involved. I know it!"

"Whatever you say, Hochstetter," Hogan shrugged. As the men came to attention he glanced over at Cohen, who was looking more than miserable, and had a white-knuckled grip on Foster's shoulder. Foster had a hand on his back, and despite that he was still swaying.

"Colonel Hogan, we are looking for Herr Hiedler!" Klink demanded, coming in behind the Gestapo with considerably less gusto, "He has disappeared!"

"He told me he was going for a walk," Hogan said, "Took a bottle of wine and left. Said he was going to check out the rec hall," He laughed, "Probably wanted a good book. Those are hard to find in Germany these days, you guys are burning all of them."

"The rec hall!" Klink shouted triumphantly, and took off.

Hochstetter scowled at the open door, and then turned and strode about the barracks, not unlike a caged tiger while his men tore through mattresses and overturned bunks.

"I don't think you're going to find him under the stool," Hogan deadpanned as one of the men kicked it across the room.

"Sometimes we find things we are not looking for, Colonel Hogan," Hochstetter came to a pause in front of Cohen, "Who is this?"

"That's Cohen, sir," Hogan said testily. He felt his muscles tense, ready to spring forward if Hochstetter placed a single finger on the kid.

"Cohen? Jewish," Hochstetter looked at the boy better and raised an eyebrow, "Ought to put him out of his misery, Hogan," He smirked.

"I'll be the judge of that," Hogan growled.

Hochstetter shook his head, and turned back to his inspection, "You," His eyes landed on the small silver cross hanging around Foster's neck, "You must be the religious man? Chaplain?"

Hogan saw the muscles in Foster's jaw tense, "Yes."

"Hmm," Hochstetter went on.

Foster watched him, and then glanced at Colonel Hogan with concern.

Hogan barely nodded. This was not like Major Hochstetter. Hochstetter was a tornado of screaming, stomping and loud orders to make up for his lack of height. He was not cool, calculating, unnerving.

Finally he stopped in front of Colonel Hogan.

"This man," He said, gritting his teeth, a sliver of the old persona showing through, "Had something to do with it. I know it."

"I'm telling you the truth, Major," Hogan said with a distinct air of long-suffering.

Hochstetter glared at Hogan, seething, and then nodded to his men, "We'd better follow the Kommandant," He bit out.

He strode after his men as they stormed out of the barracks, and then paused, and turned around.

"I'll get you, Hogan."


	4. Chapter 4

"Well, that's not scary ominous at all," Newkirk said as the door closed - loudly - behind Major Hochstetter.

"Just blowing off steam," Hogan said, "He's said the same thing dozens of times before."

"He was actin' different," Broughton said, and Addison nodded.

Olsen frowned, "Did he even make that strangled-cat sound once?"

There was a universal shake of the head.

"Well, there's phase two," Hogan said, "They find out the infirmary's locked, they'll burst in there, scour the place, and then leave it alone for the rest of the night."

"Carter and I will get in there and get as many pictures as we can," Kinch said.

"Exactly. Speaking of which, I hope Carter's doing okay down there," Leaving Carter down there alone hadn't been much of a choice, Hochstetter would notice if any more were missing.

"I'll take over guarding Hiedler for him, Colonel," Newkirk moved to follow Hogan down the tunnel.

Hogan snorted, "Just as long as you don't shoot him."

He was only half-joking, really. London hadn't given much detail, but when he heard just some of the things this man had done, he would not have argued if they'd been ordered to kill him.

But London wanted what was in his head. Which meant that while they needed him right away, it was also so important that they couldn't risk sending a plane in to pick him up. Hogan and Carter would take him to the coast personally, disguised as two gestapo men with their bound, gagged prisoner. It should work.

If the heat with Major Hochstetter cooled down, that is. Hogan wasn't sure yet how to make that happen. His plan had been to get himself and Carter thrown into the cooler, where they could easily disappear for a few days and not be missed, if a couple of other guys stood in for them.

"Hochstetter's not going to be gone for a while, Colonel," Newkirk pointed out as they walked through the tunnels, "London wants this guy two months ago."

"I know," Hogan frowned, "I'll think of something."

* * *

Hogan was more than relieved when Kinch and Carter arrived back in Barracks 2, each with a camera and a roll of film full of the information that Hiedler's team of scientists had been working on. That was the part that scared him the most, of his whole plan. What if Hochstetter left a guard on the rec hall? What if someone came back to check it? It was too important a mission to ditch it. They had to get those pictures. They _had_ to get those pictures.

Carter quickly took them down into the tunnel darkroom to develop them, and finally Hogan allowed himself to relax.

Undoubtedly, Hochstetter would show up in the middle of the night for a not-surprising "surprise inspection". And then they'd get up an hour or two before they usually did. This didn't leave a lot of room for sleeping, but he intended to make the most of it.

"Alright, men," He said, looking around, "You did good today. Let's hit the hay. Who wants to rotate with Kinch in a couple hours?"

Of course, nobody really _wanted_ to, but Addison stuck his hand up.

Hogan smiled, "Thanks, Addison. You'll wake up okay?" The next minute he realized it was a stupid question - the man didn't sleep properly anymore. Nightmares.

Addison nodded.

"Carter should probably be after Addison," Hogan mused, "Since Major Hochstetter will make his "surprise inspection" about that time, and Carter was gone last time. He'll notice."

There were a few mumbles of "good plan", and everyone bedded down.

Hogan pulled himself up into his bunk, and sighed. He doubted he'd get much sleep. He felt guilty for sleeping when Kinch was down there guarding Hiedler, but the sergeant had also pointed out that Hogan would need it more than he did.

Not to mention the enormity of the situation.

"You recall the Manhattan project?" The young woman, the voice of London, had said.

Everyone had frozen up.

Hogan picked up the receiver, "I seem to recall we were ordered not to speak of that again," To say the least. They'd been ordered home. Hogan would have died - or something a lot worse - if Freitag's aide hadn't been so good as to off the guy himself.

"Hiedler is involved," She'd said, "Your orders are to capture Hiedler, document his research, and get both him and your documents to London."

Your orders. She didn't usually voice them that way. Sure, they were orders all the same, but normally she said, "We'd like you to blow up the factory", or "We need this" or "This person has ordered this".

His orders. There was no situation where these orders were not carried out. Because they were orders, and they would be done.

* * *

Hochstetter stormed into Barracks 2 right about 3 AM, just as Hogan knew he would. Carter was down in the tunnels and Kinch and Addison were in their bunks, just like Hogan knew they would be. Cohen woke in a coughing fit and took a few minutes to gain his breath back, just like Hogan knew he would - had hoped against, but known all the same.

Hochstetter ignored Foster and Addison propping up the coughing, gasping mess and strode straight up to Colonel Hogan, glaring straight into his eyes. Hogan made a point of pulling back to look down and meet his.

"I know you had something to do with Herr Hiedler's disappearance, Colonel Hogan," He sneered, "I will catch you."

Hogan sighed and raised his eyes heavenward, "Hochstetter, I don't know why I bother telling you anymore, there's nothing to find."

Hochstetter growled and spun around, "Are all present and accounted for?"

They'd convinced Schultz previously that there were only fourteen men in Barracks 2. A couple games of poker, a few bars of chocolate, more than a couple miscounts.

"_Jawohl,_ Herr Major," He stammered, "There are fourteen men present."

Hochstetter snarled, and cast a suspicious eye about the room, eyes settling on Foster and Addison, as they finally helped Cohen catch his breath again. The two stood up, wearing matching steely expressions.

"I will be back, Hogan," He snapped, eyes smoldering, "Believe it."


	5. Chapter 5

How would they get Hiedler to London?

That was the big problem. That needed to be solved, fast.

If they sent him through the regular channels, that was a lot of risk of Hiedler being recognized, rescued, and the underground subsequently being completely uprooted and executed. Of course, if worst came to worst, London's orders were to deliver Hiedler, not care for the underground.

Hogan scanned the compound, watching Hochstetter's SS men roaming the edges. It felt unnervingly like they were lions cornering a flock of antelope and Hogan had no doubt that if they suddenly sprayed the compound with their guns… He didn't like this.

"Sir?" He looked up as Wilson strode towards him, and sat down on the bench next to him.

"Wilson," Hogan sighed, "You get a look at Cohen?"

"I did, yes, I just got him set up in the infirmary," Wilson frowned.

"Pneumonia, then?"

"Yeah."

"We thought he'd been doing better," Hogan sighed, just because there wasn't much else to say.

"Well, he's got a tough case of pneumonia now. He really ought to be in the hospital but -," He shrugged, "I don't know how safe it is for him there. I want to see if he can recover here before I try that."

Hogan sighed, "Yeah, don't want to do that unless we have to," As awful as he felt admitting it, at this point Cohen was another problem that he didn't have time for. He was glad Wilson had that covered.

Wilson nodded his agreement, watching Hogan's thoughts flit across his face, "Sir?"

"Mmm, okay," Hogan shook his head, "I don't know what to do, Wilson. It's a mess. I don't know what this is," He motioned back to the barracks, "But it's big. It's so big London could hardly hint at what was going on. And they were reluctant to do that. It's - huge. As much as I want to take care of it, Cohen is next on the list."

Wilson nodded quietly, "Well, Colonel - I'll do what I can with Cohen.

"I'm sorry. I'm -," Hogan waved a hand aimlessly, "Stuck."

"Yeah," Wilson said, "I get it, Colonel. I'll take care of the kid. He should recover fine, it'll just take a while. He'll have a pretty miserable couple weeks but he'll live."

"Okay," Hogan shook his head, "Thanks, Wilson. I'll be by to say hi."

"Right, Colonel," Wilson stood up, "I'd better get back. I left Loewe in charge of the infirmary but he's stuck in his book so I doubt he's doing a very good job."

Hogan smirked, "Alright. Take care."

"You too, Colonel."

* * *

Hochstetter hadn't gone anywhere for the past day and a half. He and his men were bursting in unannounced at any and all hours. In the past, this had been a nuisance. Now Hogan was getting nervous about his cool glare, steady gazes resting longer than they should have on each of his men.

"It's just a tactic," He said firmly, after Hochstetter had stormed through the barracks for the umpteenth time, "He's trying to get us off-kilter, and keep us there," He knew this as much as anyone else. He also knew that it was a darn good tactic.

"Yeah," Baker nudged with his foot at a stool that had been broken and repaired many times over, "Is it even worth it to clean up?"

"Yes," Hogan said, "That's giving up, and that's what Hochstetter wants, and then he swoops in for the kill. Come on. Broom, dustpan,needle and thread, a good ole hammer and nails. It won't take ten minutes if we all pitch in." They were missing Barnes, Davis, Garlotti, Joseph, and Carter (who was spending most of his time down in the tunnels to avoid being noticed by Major Hochstetter - he hadn't been there before, he shouldn't be there now)

There was a general dejected sigh, but they buckled down and got it done.

"I'm going to check on Carter, while we know Hochstetter won't be back for a bit," Hogan said (after he'd assisted sufficiently enough to prove that he wasn't just trying to escape cleaning), and climbed down below.

Carter was propped up in the doorway, gun hung loosely in his hand but still pointed in Hiedler's general direction. After realizing he'd be down there several days, they'd granted him the privilege of being chained to a cot. Hiedler sat on the cot, leaned up against the dirt wall apparently asleep. Judging from the way his face was pressed comically into the wall, definitely asleep.

"Having fun?" Hogan asked, leaning against the other side of the doorway, "Sorry it ended up being you down here. We hadn't quite figured on Hochstetter's reaction." Should have expected, planned for, but hadn't.

He shrugged, and stifled a yawn, "S'okay, Colonel. It had to be someone."

"Good man," Hogan grinned, "Should I bring down with a cup of coffee?"

Carter's face lit up, "'Gosh ,that'd be great, sir, if ya could."

Hogan rolled his eyes, "Alright, Carter. Be back in a bit," He slapped a hand on Carter's shoulder and turned to go back down the tunnel.

Getting coffee. That was easy to do. He should've signed on to be somebody's aide.

No, don't kid yourself, he sighed, you know you love this.

Okay, don't kid yourself. You hate this. But it's where your part is. He climbed up into the barracks, "Coffee for Carter," He said to nobody in particular as he poured a cup.

There were a few grunts of approval. Nobody was talking much. Everyone was either racking their brain for a solution to getting Hiedler to London or had given up and were moping about in typical depressed fashion. Kinch and Baker had restarted their game yet again. They had yet to finish one all day with Hochstetter's men coming in every other minute and tossing everything about.

Hogan looked down at their game. Baker seemed to be ahead, but he was also losing more pieces. That was how it went, wasn't it.

Kinch moved his king two squares to the right, and the rook from the right side to the king's left.

Hogan blinked, "They switched places."

Kinch looked up, "Yeah, Colonel. Castling…" He trailed off, "What is it?"

Hogan's blank expression turned into a devilish grin, "I've got it."

**Hope you guys like it! Sorry I didn't update for a while, ran up against a brick wall there. And it's a bit of a short chapter but I've got big plans!**


	6. Chapter 6

"Barnes and Garlotti," Hogan said, popping up in Barracks 2, "You two are bringing Herr Hiedler to London."

Barnes' jaw dropped. "Us two?" He asked weakly.

"We two, Barnes, grammar," Hogan admonished, "But yep. You two."

Davis stepped forward, "Umm - sir - are you feeling alright?"

"Just fine, Sergeant." Hogan pulled himself the rest of the way up into his cell.

Davis went to the door, "Hey, Garlotti, Joseph! The Colonel's here," He hissed.

Immediately the two pressed themselves against the barred door to their cell, "Hello, sir!" The two grinned half-heartedly.

"What'd you come for, Colonel?" Garlotti asked, "Mass escape?"

Colonel Hogan chuckled, "Not quite. You and Barnes are going to be Herr Hiedler's escorts to London."

"What!?" Joseph's voice cracked.

Garlotti jabbed a thumb into his chest.

"Yes, you, Garlotti. I'll explain," Hogan propped himself up against the door, and Barnes and Davis leaned on the wall opposite him.

"So, Major Hochstetter never bothers to check the cooler. You've got one Luftwaffe guard down here," Hogan said, "And he comes by every hour, on the hour, doesn't he?"

"Religiously," Davis nodded his confirmation.

"Exactly. And the guards aren't the sharpest, and they don't care to see much either. Which means that if Barnes and Garlotti disappear and are replaced by two other random guys, or even dummies, then nobody's the wiser."

"And why us two?" Garlotti asked, "Er - we two, I suppose."

"Barnes, of course, speaks fluent German," Hogan said, "And you're Italian. Which, no offense, means you can pretend to be on their side." He paused, "You speak Italian, right? What's your accent like?"

"My Italian's perfect," Garlotti said, apparently taken aback that anybody should consider it otherwise.

"Better than Davis', that's for sure," Joseph snarked.

Garlotti rolled his eyes, "It's not hard to do that."

Davis huffed.

"They've been trying to teach him while we're in here," Barnes explained to Colonel Hogan, "It's goin' pretty awful."

Hogan smirked, "Well. But anyways. Garlotti will be an Italian officer, Barnes will be a Gestapo officer. The two of you are escorting an American airman to Italy for interrogation."

"And we take a detour along the English channel," Barnes filled in.

Hogan smiled, "You guys catch on so quickly."

* * *

They got a few guys from Hut 12 - which was in the back of the camp, which meant Major Hochstetter, for the most part, left them alone - to take the places of Barnes and Garlotti.

Over the course of the next few days, they were outfitted with uniforms, IDs, orders, passes, and all that such. And Hogan went over the plan.

"Okay. Your first stop is here, in this little town." He pointed at a point on the map, "The waitress at the hotel bar is in the underground, she'll be wearing a blue scarf and you should have the blue handkerchief in your pocket. She'll take you to the room. As for Hiedler, cuff him to the bed, keep a gun to his head, I don't care if you sit on him. He can not escape," At this he fixed both of them with a firm gaze, "I'm sure you've already gathered how serious this is?"

"Yes sir," They both nodded.

"Alright. From there, you should be able to make it to the coast if you drive for a solid twelve hours. But if it gets too late - you guys need to be alert - there's a little farming community right here outside of Rotterdam. They're friendly to the cause and they'll let you hide out in their barn. The sub leaves at 6 AM whether Hiedler's on it or not, so it's an early morning for you two."

Garlotti huffed, "Peachy."

"If Hiedler does get away from us, do we just shoot 'im?" Barnes asked.

"If you can't possibly catch him again," Hogan didn't want to be on the receiving end of the earful London was going to have if _that _happened. They'd probably speed up the invasion just to strip him of his rank, "When you guys come back, don't use the hotel again, it's too risky. You'll have to figure sleeping accommodations out for yourselves that night, we haven't got anybody there besides the waitress."

"Waitresses and farmers," Garlotti smirked, "I think we should recruit a field marshall or two."

"Maybe, Garlotti, but the field marshalls aren't nearly as good looking."

* * *

The next day they moved out.

Hogan found himself in the radio room with Barnes as the man made sure he had everything. Newkirk had dragged Garlotti into his sewing room to make a few last minute fixes.

"Y'know, Barnes, if Garlotti's Italian identity doesn't hold up to some die-hard Nazi, you'll need to step in," Hogan said offhandedly.

"Uh-huh. We got it figured out," Barnes kept his eyes on the papers strewn on the table before him, tucking them into his coat pockets.

Hogan raised an eyebrow, "Something bugging you?"

Barnes' gaze flickered up at him for a second and then trained back on his work, "I'm just... kinda surprised you trust me, sir," He shrugged into his coat.

Hogan nodded, "You've more than proven yourself, Sergeant."

"Thank you, sir," He smiled a little, and patted down his pockets, "ID, gun, cash, orders and authorization.

"Map?"

"Yup."

"Flashlight?"

"Garlotti's got it."

"Staff car's waiting in the usual spot. Make sure you get gas."

"Got it, sir."

Garlotti entered the room, Newkirk just behind him, proudly surveying his handiwork.

"You guys look like a dashing pair of traitors," He grinned.

Barnes smiled sweetly, "Gosh, thanks, Newkirk."

"Anytime, mate," Newkirk clapped a hand on Barnes' shoulder.

Hogan shook his head at the teasing, "Alright, you guys ready to move out?"

Garlotti and Barnes looked at each other, and Hogan saw a flicker of a conversation between them, and then they nodded, "Yes sir."

"Okay," Hogan said, "Let's get 'Sergeant Smith', then. I'll go with you guys as far as the staff car."

"Be careful," Newkirk warned as they exited the room.

Barnes snorted, "Yeah, like we weren't planning on that already."

They shared a half-hearted chuckle, but Hogan caught the anxious tension beneath the banter. _He's right, boys. Be careful._


	7. Chapter 7

What if Hochstetter checked the cooler? What if Klink checked the cooler? What if Schultz decided to know something? What if Garlotti forgot every word of Italian he'd ever learned? What if the Italians defected before he and Barnes got back? What if the war was over before they got back and Barnes and Garlotti didn't know it and kept going and ended up shot by their own side? What if Hiedler escaped? What if Hiedler got free and hurt - or killed - one of his men? What if Hiedler contacted the Gestapo and got them all lined up in front of a firing squad?

What if, what if, what if. Hogan was getting tired of worrying.

And Barnes and Garlotti hadn't even been gone a full twenty-four hours.

Hochstetter's goons were still looming around camp. He felt like they were a noose tightening around his neck, and from the look of it everyone else felt the same way.

But Hochstetter couldn't stay forever, could he? The brass didn't approve of wasted resources. He had to leave soon if he didn't find anything.

Only thing was, there was plenty for him to find. If only he looked a little harder. Hogan was counting on keeping Hochstetter concentrated on him. Not the men in the barracks, and definitely not the men in the cooler.

And not the men in the infirmary, either.

Hogan entered the infirmary quietly, remembering the many times Wilson had snapped at him not to slam the door before looking up and seeing who it was.

Wilson was seated at his chair in the corner, leaned back with just his foot hooked on the counter keeping him from toppling over backwards.

"Colonel," He leaned forward and the front two legs hit the floor, and he stood up.

"Wilson," Hogan nodded, "Cohen been doing okay?" He glanced at the row of beds, "Oh, who's that in the back corner there?" Besides Cohen, who was sprawled on his cot, apparently asleep, there was another figure in the corner, wrapped snugly in blankets.

"Yeah, O'Shea from Hut 7. He busted his leg pretty bad when he was shot down and the pain's been flarin' up in the cold weather. He's been in here the last few days." Wilson frowned, "He'll be fine. I'm more worried about Cohen."

Hogan raised an eyebrow, "He's not getting any better?"

Wilson shook his head somberly, "I got some antibiotics, but it's been a few days now and he's not much changed. Only thing is," He crossed his arms and shrugged, "I imagine he'd recover about the same even if he was in the hospital, it's warm and dry enough in here. Plus I'm a lot happier able to keep an eye on him."

Hogan nodded, "Alright. If he gets worse, though, you let me know. I've got Hiedler on his way, I've got time to convince Klink to move him to the hospital," As another thought occurred to him he asked, "Hochstetter's not been bothering you much, has he?"

"He's been in here a couple times," The answer surprised as well as alarmed Hogan, what business did Hochstetter have in the infirmary? "Came in yesterday, Cohen was awake then. I didn't let him talk - said it would hurt his throat, and it would, too, but Hochstetter was asking questions."

"What sort of questions?"

"Asked if he was happy here. What he thought of the living situation, the guards, Klink, you…" Wilson trailed off, "Think the kid was getting nervous. I finally told Hochstetter he needed to get some sleep, and I could see it in his face he was just humoring me," This, Hogan could tell, irked the medic to no end.

"Hochstetter wasn't in here until Cohen was?" Hogan asked? Wilson nodded, "Shoot."

Wilson raised an eyebrow, "What would Hochstetter want with Cohen?"

Hogan sighed, "I don't know, gosh. The kid's Jewish. But surely Hochstetter's got better things on his hands? Just how bad do they consider the Jews?"

Wilson shrugged, "Heck, I wouldn't know. Loewe might." Loewe, Wilson's friend-turned-nursemaid, was originally from Germany, "I'll ask him. Unless Hochstetter's just trying to get at you through Cohen."

"Yeah," Hogan frowned, "Well, it's sure working."

Wilson grunted an agreement and they sat in a somber silence until Hogan said, "Well, I'll come back later. When do you think Cohen'll wake up?"

"Shoot, it might be a while," Wilson sighed, "He was up a lot last night and this morning. Kid keeps losing air," He looked up at Colonel Hogan, "Scared me a couple times."

Hogan blinked, turning that over in his head, what it meant, and then Wilson broke into his thoughts, "Maybe come around four or five, Colonel. He'll probably be up sooner but then you can talk to him when he's not so groggy."

"Alright, Wilson," Hogan nodded, "I'll be by. Take care."

"You too, Colonel."

* * *

"Everything go okay?" Hogan asked the two men climbing down the cooler tunnel.

Larimore grinned, "Sure, Colonel. Peachy."

"Dummies in place?"

"Yup," Lamb frowned, "Those things are awful. Sir." Nobody liked dealing with the small collection of dummies of varying heights and weights that the Stalag 13 prisoners owned. It'd be easier to haul around an unconscious man, according to Newkirk, because at least in the end he would wake up and maybe give you something for your troubles.

"Yeah, I know, but they pay it forward by giving us alibis. Trust me, it's worth it."

The two nodded solemnly. They'd been warned of the risks when they came to the prison, and they knew full well the likelihood of their lives ending by firing squad instead of old age.

"You'd better get back," Hogan waved them on, "You guys've got roll call in just a few minutes."

"Really? Aww, shoot, Ted, we gotta run." Larimore tugged on his friend's arm, and the two fired off matching sloppy salutes before taking off down the tunnels.

Hogan smiled, and shook his head, and made sure the tunnel entrance was shut securely before turning to go back to the radio room.

Kinch was there, seated by the radio. Until Barnes and Garlotti got back he didn't want it unmanned, in case something arose and they - or somebody, anyways - got in touch with them.

"Hey there," Hogan said, just smothering a yawn in his elbow.

"Hi, Colonel," Kinch turned to him, propping his head up on one fist, "I saw Larimore and Lamb come flying through at the speed of light a moment ago."

"You sure did," Hogan sat down, "All quiet on the home front?"

"Yup," Kinch tapped a finger on his radio, "But no news is good news?"

Hogan sighed, "No news isn't good news, but it's not bad news either."

"It's just no news," Kinch finished, "You know they can handle themselves, Colonel."

"Oh, I know that," Hogan shook his head, "It doesn't stop me."

Kinch sighed and nodded, "I know."

Hogan glared at the radio, willing it to come to life, Barnes and Garlotti on the other end saying they'd gotten Hiedler on the submarine and were on their way home. But that was absurd. They wouldn't be back for three more days.

"Those scientists take off yet?" Kinch asked by way of conversation.

"Oh - yeah," Hogan smirked, "Tails between their legs." Once the group of scientists had realized their supervisor was, apparently, gone for good, they'd been ordered to a new location - a new location which was now priority for London's bombs.

Kinch smiled softly, drumming his fingers on the table.

"I don't like waiting," Hogan said finally. He looked up at Kinch, "I don't know how you manage it when we're out on a mission."

Kinch raised an eyebrow, "I make up worst-case scenarios in my head and tidy up."

"And?"

"And do it again," Kinch said, "Some of the guys get pretty mad at me when it's one AM and I'm sweeping."

Hogan losed a half-chuckle, and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. He sighed.

"I hate waiting."

**Author's note: I tried to find when the phrase "at the speed of light" came about but I didn't come up with much. However, the speed of light was discovered by a Danish man names Ole Roemer in 1676, so that's more than enough time for a saying to develop.**

**Hope you like it!**


	8. Chapter 8

True to his word, Hogan arrived in the infirmary that evening.

"Hey. I'm back," He smirked at Wilson.

"Welcome back, then," Wilson nodded to the beds.

Hogan sat down on the cot next to Cohen's, and the boy smiled wanly. He looked a little pitiful in his oversized long johns, pale and utterly exhausted, but he was smiling, "Hey. You been feelin' better?" Beyond him, he noted that the bunk occupied by O'Shea was now empty. That was good.

Cohen shrugged, and gave a thumbs up, and then pointed to his throat and shrugged again.

"Yeah, don't try to talk. Bored yet?"

He shook his head and held up the book he'd had open in his lap.

"Treasure Island. How many times have you read that already?" Hogan grinned.

Cohen paused, and counted on his fingers, and then held up is hands in a "Who knows?" gesture.

"Good for rereading, though?" A nod, "You got any others queued up for when you're finished?"

Cohen shook his head sadly.

"Bugger." Hogan was about to say more when the door swung open and a younger man stepped in.

"Hey, Wilson, it's about time for dinner. Oh, hi, Colonel," He straightened.

"Hi. Loewe?"

"Yessir," He glanced at Wilson, obviously hoping for some sort of conversational cue. Hogan forgot at times how awkward it probably was for a corporal to be conversing with a full-bird colonel. He was a quiet one, too, if he remembered correctly from the few times Wilson had sent him to Barracks 2 with a shopping list or something of the like.

Wilson shook his head, "I'll be by later, Loewe. I ate."

Loewe rolled his eyes, "I'll bring you something. Again." Hogan got the feeling Wilson did this a lot.

"Hey, Wilson," Hogan glanced at his watch, "If you like, I can sit with Cohen while you eat."

"No, sir, you got to eat too."

"I'll get LeBeau to scramble some eggs. Tastes better than anything coming from the mess hall anyways."

Wilson raised an eyebrow, but stood up, "You think you can?"

"Sure," Hogan waved him on, "How hard can it be?"

Both gazes darted away and Loewe said, "Thanks, Colonel."

"I'll be quick," Wilson said.

"Yeah, go on," Hogan waved them off and then turned back to the room, "You still alive, Cohen?"

The boy smiled weakly and nodded.

"There we go. I just gotta keep you alive. You got water right there, you've got blankets, you're good," Hogan grinned, "That ain't hard."

Cohen nodded his agreement. Then he motioned back towards Barracks 2 and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, the mission?"

He nodded and Hogan went on, "I sent Barnes and Garlotti with Hiedler. Since they were in the cooler anyways they're easier to cover for, and Hochstetter doesn't bother with the guys in the cooler anyways. And he's more focused on me anyways," Hogan raised an eyebrow, "But Wilson told me he was asking you some questions?"

Cohen nodded quickly.

Hogan sighed, "Don't know why he was in here. Don't like it, either, and he knows that."

A solemn nod of agreement, and the two sat in thought for a long few minutes.

Suddenly Cohen's breath hitched and he looked up, eyes widening. "Col -," He broke off in a coughing fit.

"Hey," Hogan moved to sit next to him, putting a firm arm around him, "Hey, deep breath."

He shrugged helplessly. Well, he might have, his whole body lurched each time he coughed.

"Oh, you're shaking. Crap. Come on," He didn't know what to do. Why had he thought he could do this?

His coughs were getting shorter, more stunted, but he still couldn't get air. Oh, Lord, he was suffocating. Hogan clapped a hand on his back. That was what his dad had always done, wasn't it?

His eyes started to tear up, trained on some point beyond the blankets. He was swaying. His coughs came in little squeaks, unable to get any air.

"Cohen, come on. Don't die on me."

And suddenly he heaved in a breath.

"Yes! Yes. Yes." Hogan nearly laughed with relief, even as he fell into coughing again, "Good kid. Keep going."

He found his breath and sat panting for a minute, his breaths rattling. Shaking.

"Hey," Hogan squeezed his shoulder, "Scared?"

Cohen nodded dumbly.

"Okay," Hogan pulled him closer and Cohen practically fell into him, exhausted. Dad used to do that. "Don't be."

It was only a minute or two before his breathing, ragged as it was, evened out, and Hogan carefully eased him back onto the pillows and tucked the blankets up around his shoulders. He didn't stir.

* * *

"You know what'd be really nice?" Carter was perched up on Newkirk's bunk, head propped up on his hands, watching Kinch sweep. "Is if we could turn back time." There were dark circles under his eyes, and his words were just slightly slurred. He hadn't caught up yet on all the sleep he'd missed guarding Hiedler.

"I think we've had this discussion before," Newkirk groused. He wasn't particularly happy with sharing his bunk, but Carter's had become the shelf for all everything the Gestapo had broken in their last "inspection", that needed to be thrown out. A couple of mugs, a shelf, a stool that had been haphazardly reconstructed one too many times, and a few other bits and pieces.

"Well, sometimes you're stuck with someone so long you have to rinse and repeat," Foster pointed out, "It would be nice. Do we get to decide how far back we go?"

"Do we get to keep our memories if we do go back?" Baker asked, "And do we age younger the further we go back, or do we become separate from the people we were in the past?"

Newkirk groaned.

"Let's say you do keep your memories," Broughton said, "But that you age younger, so you get to redo some things."

"I like that," Newkirk mumbled, "Let's go back five minutes and pick a different conversation to have over again."

"Oh, hush," LeBeau waved a hand dismissively, "I know exactly what I would do. I would listen to my father and marry Amélie Broussard."

"I woulda memorized Mom's shortcake recipe and I wouldn't have forgotten to feed the chickens that one winter, and I would've been more enthusiastic about stacking hay and I woulda played with my little brother Alan more and I would've told Mom I loved her more and I would always make sure to clean out my ears and wear clean underwear like she wanted and -"

"Carter!" Newkirk sighed, "Thought you were gonna take a nap?"

"Well, she always wanted me to wear clean underwear," Carter went on earnestly, either ignoring or not noticing Newkirk's remark. "She said if I was ever in an accident and got hurt bad or killed, even, she didn't want to be embarrassed that my underwear was dirty."

There was a general sigh and Newkirk said, "I, personally, would've kicked my dad out before he started beatin' up on Mav' an' the younger kids," His expression darkened and then he ducked his head, "Nevermind."

Hogan quickly spoke up to cover Newkirk's embarrassment, "I would ask the girl next door out," He said. And he'd have saved the men in his crew who hadn't made it. Had a medic waiting when Hercules dropped in. Gone and blown up Hitler himself without all the lives lost in the plot that had failed anyways.

He shook his head, "And I would not have tried to climb the school building in sixth grade."

This drew a few chuckles and Foster spoke from where he sat at the table, head rested on his folded hands, "I think I'd probably be a little smarter about dealing with my sister's bullies. Maybe avoided getting locked in the bathroom for three hours."

"Hey, that prepared you for life here, though," Hogan pointed out with a smile, "Three hours in a bathroom is nothing compared to the cooler." Which was where Davis and Joseph would be stuck until Barnes and Garlotti got back - then he would work on getting them released early.

"I wouldn't go back that far," Addison said softly, and Hogan was surprised he'd even spoken up, "Just enough to talk to my siblings before I left."

"I would do my chores," Baker said with a smirk, "Make Mom a lot happier."

"I would've married Dottie," Broughton said, "Before I got drafted."

"Man, it would be nice," Carter said thoughtfully,"The Allies could turn back time to avoid losing battles, save lives, know the enemy's moves before they ever made them…"

"Well - but it would mean a lot of repetition," Foster said, "It really might drag the war longer."

"Not if both sides had the means," Kinch nodded.

That would be awful, Hogan thought. Watching the same men die over and over again, maybe dying yourself over and over again, and one person choosing to start it all over.

"The war wouldn't ever end," He said aloud. It was a sobering thought. "I guess it's a good thing we're only human."

**Author's Note:**

**This is kind of on the mushy side for me so let me know what you think! :)**

**Also, I know the last half doesn't much pertain to the plotline, but I have to figure the plotline out yet. I don't ever publish stories without completing them first, but I did this time since I hadn't even been planning on continuing it, and yada yada yada. But I have a plan, worry not!**

**Thanks!**

.


	9. Chapter 9

**So sorry I haven't updated in forever! It ought to go faster now because I have a _plan._**

Colonel Hogan's watch was never wrong. And not because it kept perfect time, it probably didn't. But Colonel Hogan's watch was the watch he used when his men synced their watches. It was the commander's watch, the commanding watch, the watch that didn't just tell time, but told the time.

And right now his watch said it was seven minutes past 2 AM, and Colonel Hogan wanted desperately for somebody to give him a good conk on the head.

But that was the talk of a crazy person.

So was the idea of getting a good night's sleep, at this point, he conceded, and quietly swung his legs over the side of the bed and jumped down.

He didn't land as quietly as he would have liked to; he certainly wasn't young and agile anymore.

He glanced at his letter to his mother, yet unfinished, on his desk, and dismissed it with a shake of the head. He wouldn't be able to make himself concentrate on a book.

He stepped quietly out of his office and looked over the main room.

He shouldn't have been surprised to see the shadow sitting at the main table, but he was, and carefully slid into a seat across from him.

"Thought you'd be asleep," He said.

Addison shrugged, just imperceptibly. His hands were wrapped around his cap, kneading the soft leather, "Couldn't sleep."

Hogan nodded, "Me neither. Guess you probably noticed, though?"

He nodded stiffly, forcing a small, fleeting smile.

Hogan paused, looking him over, "You don't look too good."

He shrugged, "Be okay." Then he pulled in a breath, "J's worried, 's'all."

They sat silently another minute or two, Hogan listening to Addison's heavy, forced-even breaths, before the other man whispered, "An - that on top 'f the regular." He mumbled it, as if he couldn't force his mouth open wide enough to get the words out.

Hogan frowned at him, "Worse than usual?" Usual was pretty bad, too. There were days Hogan wondered how the man managed to stay upright.

He nodded, "I'll be okay, though. Just have to get my breath."

"Care to talk about it?"

He drew in a breath, and let it out and asked, "Do you believe in omens?" His eyes were still fixed on his hands.

"No." Hogan said simply.

He nodded, "Okay."

"What was it?"

He glanced up, just for a moment, "I - don't really know. Can't really remember 'n I don't want to either."

Hogan let him pause, breathe shakily, and go on, "Just - everyone. I think. It was bad and there wasn't any -," He swallowed, and shook his head, "There wasn't any way out."

"Addison," He looked up. He was always too pale. "You're just imagining it. Worst-case scenario. It's not an omen and I'm not going to let that happen."

"Yeah," He nodded, and ducked his head again, "I know."

That was good. Because Hogan didn't.

* * *

It was 10 AM the next day, Colonel Hogan was watching a feisty game of volleyball, when Kinch came up and nudged him gently.

He looked up, met his sergeant's eyes, and knew right away.

He stood and strode after Kinch towards the barracks, summoning the others of his team with a jerk of the chin.

"What happened?" He exclaimed as soon as the door closed behind them, "They should've been almost home by now."

Kinch shrugged and held out his notepad.

Hogan took it and read it aloud, for the sake of the others, "Emergency. Will call ASAP, Silverskin." He looked up, "Newkirk, set up the switchboard to intercept any calls to Klink. Kinch, you get back on the radio in case Garlotti tries again. Crap." He tore the page off of the notepad and shoved it into the furnace, "Crap."

For once, nobody was entirely sure what to say. Finally, Carter spoke up, "How soon d'you think he'll call, Colonel?"

Hogan shrugged, "Who knows. As soon as possible just means as soon as possible, not soon. And depending how bad the situation is…" He sighed, "Alert Larimore and Lamb, they need to be in the cooler as Barnes and Garlotti at all times except for roll call. Get everyone up from the tunnels, be ready to start evacuating. Should've gone myself," He finally muttered.

"You couldn't have known, Colonel," Kinch offered softly.

"Maybe it's not so bad," Carter said, "Maybe they just got lost or something."

"Garlotti said it was an emergency." Newkirk gestured towards the furnace where the note was now reduced to ashes in the burning embers, "That carries a lot of weight."

"Maybe he met a girl," LeBeau offered with a wry, rather pitiful smirk.

Hogan sighed, "Alright, fellas, you heard me. I'll be in my office." He strode across the room, shut the door behind him, and wished he was back home, away from paper-thin walls that fear could seep through.

* * *

"_Colonél? _Garlotti called." LeBeau finally poked his head into Colonel Hogan's office.

Hogan stood, "Good."

He quickly climbed down the ladder and took the phone from Newkirk, who wordlessly held it out, "Hello?"

"It's safe to talk on my end, sir." Garlotti sounded exhausted.

"Okay, what happened?" Hogan said stiffly.

Garlotti drew a breath, "Well, sir, we did get Hiedler to the coast. He's on the way to England."

Hogan breathed a sigh of relief and pulled the phone away for a moment, "Hiedler's on his way." Then he put the phone back, "Are you both okay? Where's Barnes?"

"I… I lost him."

Hogan sighed, "Dammit." _I should've gone myself._

"I'm sorry, sir," Garlotti said softly, "I - on the way home we'd stopped at a big hotel that'd been turned into a hospital, and Barnes and I both ended up helping out. It was a mess, Colonel, all the soldiers from the front - but anyways," He quickly rushed on, "We got caught in a bombing raid. They'd painted a red cross on the roof but I guess… I dunno. But I haven't seen Barnes since before the raid, and that was last night. I borrowed the radio from the hospital, lucky they had one and it was still intact, but I could only get at it for a minute. I wandered all over town before I found a phone I could use privately."

"You're sure it's not tapped?" Hogan asked.

"Yes, sir. The Gestapo headquarters is a big burning hole in the ground and so's half the town. We're in Nijmegen, by the way."

"Nijmegen?" Hogan blinked. "The Allies bombed the Netherlands?"

"I dunno, Colonel. Someone did."

Hogan nodded.

What were the chances Barnes was alive under all that mess?

"Garlotti."

"Yeah?"

"Make your way back here."

Garlotti was silent for a minute, and then, "Yes, sir."

"Be careful."

"I will, sir. Maybe be there by tomorrow night, or the next."

"Good."

Another pause.

"I should go. Before someone sees me."

"Alright. Good-bye. Take care."

"You too, sir. Good-bye." His voice was raspy and the line clicked off so quickly his last word was cut off.

Hogan handed the phone back to Newkirk, who hung it up.

He took a deep breath and was about to repeat the conversation when Kinch said softly, "You'd better go upstairs so you only have to tell it once, Colonel."

"Right." Hogan nodded and strode back towards the ladder.

He paused at the base, and looked at their radio.

"Kinch, stay on the radio," He said finally, "Newkirk, unhook the phone setup and then come up."

He turned and climbed up the ladder.

**A/N:**

**On Feb. 22, 1944, the Allies mistakenly bombed Nijmegen, Netherlands on their return from the failed Operation Argument, which was supposed to effectively destroy Germany's Air Force. I read it on stevenroyedwards . com, or you can Google it.**

**I wouldn't have any idea if wounded soldiers would be sent to Nijmegen but if I remember correctly the front lines were fairly close to the Netherlands (in the Netherlands?) in 1944, so I took creative license there.**

**I asked about Garlotti's code name on the Forum XIIIc. It was a hard pass, but I decided against Mozzarella Mikey. Jinzle had suggested Garrote Vil, which got me to G-Knot, which had me looking up a list of different types of knots, which led me to find a list of types of garlic. Thus, Silverskin.**

**Thanks!**


	10. Chapter 10

"We lost Barnes," Hogan said simply, crossing his arms and leaning back against the bunk frame, "He and Garlotti were caught in an air raid**."**

The room was quiet for a minute. Two minutes. Three.

"Garlotti knows for sure?" Olsen asked softly.

Hogan shook his head, "Not for sure. More than likely. I told him to head back to camp."

It was quiet another moment and Hogan said, "We got Hiedler to England, anyways." He looked around.

Most of them wore expressions of plain, dumb shock.

Carter looked so upset he might have been sick.

Foster was praying.

Baker was watching him, and as soon as they made eye contact his eyes darted away.

The bunk squeaked upwards again, and Newkirk came out, leaning on the bunk frame, "Isn't anybody going to go tell Davis?"

They all looked up, and then Hogan stood. "Yeah. I'll go."

Davis.

Damn, those two were like brothers. Barnes was supposed to meet his kids after the war. Christopher and Tabitha and Emily. Or was Emily the older one? Nevermind.

He climbed down the ladder and nodded to Kinch, "Headed to the cooler."

Maybe it wasn't the longest walk, and his feet weren't the heaviest they'd ever been. Maybe that had been going to tell Mom when he'd volunteered to go over to England, or when he'd gone to sit down and write letters to parents and wives of men and boys who weren't coming home. But it sure felt like it, right then.

He shoved on the block of the cell wall, and when it had gone a few inches he could feel tugging from the other side.

Davis and Larimore gave him a hand climbing up, and when he was standing in front of them Davis asked, "Colonel?"

The next minute he recognized the expression on Hogan's face and froze. "What happened?"

Hogan shrugged, "Garlotti called. They were caught in an air raid."

Davis sat down on the cot and dropped his head into his hands.

"Shit."

Larimore stood still, shocked, and then looked at Colonel Hogan, "Dead?" He asked, as if asking that might make it not so.

Hogan shrugged again, "Garlotti never found a - his - body." He paused to look at Davis. "But it's not very likely."

"Hey?" The call was from the other cell, "What's going on?"

Hogan stepped over to the cell door, where he could see Joseph and Lamb standing by their door, "Garlotti called, from Nijmegen. There was an air raid."

The expressions froze on their faces.

Then Joseph nodded, "How you gonna explain that, sir?"

The thought had occurred to him, although he wasn't entirely sure yet, "I'll think of something." He said.

Lamb spoke up quietly, "Did you get the guy to England?"

"Yeah." Hogan said, "We completed the mission."

Completed the mission, yes.

Succeeded, not anymore.

* * *

"Hey," Wilson greeted the Colonel with a nod as Hogan sat down next to him, on the bench just outside the infirmary, "Heard what happened."

"Yeah," Hogan sighed.

Wilson nodded, and didn't say anything for a long while.

"Any family?"

"None that were speaking to him," Hogan sighed.

"Mmm."

"Yeah," Hogan blew out another breath, and asked, "How's Cohen doing?"

Wilson nodded, "He's getting there. Slowly, but that's how it goes when you're a sick and underfed POW in a building that somehow," He sighed, "Calls itself an infirmary, despite lacking heating, decent insulation, proper supplies, medics, I could go on."

"It's World War Two," Hogan shrugged. "World War Two. The Great War got a sequel."

The medic snorted, "War to end all wars, my ass."

Hogan smiled a little at the remark, "Yeah."

"How are you going to explain Barnes' disappearance, sir?"

"We'd already convinced Schultz we were a man shorter than we really were," Hogan said, "To accommodate for a man being in the tunnels guarding Hiedler. Once his file disappears from the office, which won't be hard, and maybe I'll get some alcohol down Klink to convince him he hallucinated the whole thing. No, that's not a bad idea," He paused, "Get Davis and Joseph out of the cooler, too."

"Good idea." Wilson looked past Hogan. "Hi."

Carter came jogging up. "Hi." He turned to the Colonel, "There's a fight on the other side of camp, sir. Kinch is trying to break it up but he's not doing very well."

Hogan scowled and stood up. "Great. We've got enough to deal with without a riot."

Wilson sighed. "If anyone cracks their skull open, send them my way."

* * *

"Hey, hey, HEY!" Hogan shoved into the middle of the fray, yanking back on shoulders and prying people apart, "Knock it off!"

In a minute or two the fight died, leaving a bunch of men looking like they'd been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"Are you joking?" He was mad. To say the least. Of all the times, "We've got the Gestapo breathing down our necks -" Amongst other things "- Now is the worst time to be beating up on each other!" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black-uniformed guard inching closer.

"That's exactly what they want," He muttered, hopefully within range of the men but too quiet for the guard, "Scatter. I'll deal with you later." As if. He wouldn't be able to remember half the guys who were and weren't fighting. It was a lost cause. _Worse than parenting. I think._

Catching his meaning, they quickly dissipated, leaving only one man limping to a nearby bench, hands hovered protectively over certain extremities.

Hogan eyed him skeptically, "You going to be okay?"

He nodded, flushing a bright red, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Something tells me you won't want to do it again."

He huffed softly in a half-laugh, "Uh-huh."

"Alright." As Hogan walked away, he barely heard a mumbled apology.

Okay.

Really, though? Of all the damn times. Not everybody knew of the mission, but the Stalag could be like a beauty parlor at times and it certainly wasn't hard to miss Hochstetter and his goons skulking about. He didn't care if they were fighting to blow off steam. Blowing off steam could end up getting them killed, if one thing lead to another and another. The whole mess was too delicate to take risks with. He'd written too many letters to families already.

"Sir?" Kinch appeared at Hogan's side, matching his pace, "What're you thinking?"

Hogan looked at him, "Sometimes I miss the days when we were just a measly old Traveler's Aid Society."


	11. Chapter 11

"Colonel Hogan?" Hochstetter stopped in front of him, his whole stature daring Hogan to fight him. "I dare say you have not seemed yourself the past few days."

Hogan stared at him, "I could say the same about you. You lost a bit of your maniacal touch."

Hochstetter raised an eyebrow, a small smile on his face that said that he knew something

Hogan didn't, although Hogan was strongly suspicious he was faking it.

Hochstetter gave the three men with him a warning eye and they left the barracks.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan saw LeBeau step closer to his stove, one hand resting on the pot handle. Kinch squared his shoulders and a small, silvery glinting knife suddenly appeared in Newkirk's fingers.

He could, of course, give the word right now. Hochstetter would disappear. But even Klink wasn't that stupid. They'd be discovered and probably executed by the end of the day. That scenario ran through his head at least ten times a day. Discovery. Execution. The smug look on Hochstetter's face, the wallop that would be to the Allied effort, the grief that would cause families back home.

He and Hochstetter held eye contact for a long minute, and Hogan swore there was a battle simply between the two of them ,without a word being spoken.

_I'll catch you, Hogan._

_I don't know what you're talking about, Hochstetter, I'm already a prisoner._ Even subconsciously, he was denying it. There had to be an award for that.

"Colonel Hogan, you care about your men?"

Shit.

"It's my responsibility to take care of them, Major," Hogan replied evenly.

Hochstetter nodded, "So, then, if one or two of your men were to be transferred someplace else that would be a cause for concern?"

Over Hochstetter's shoulder he saw Addison's eyes widen, he took a step backwards.

He looked at Hochstetter again.

_You hurt any one of my men and I'll put a bullet through your chest._

"Yes." There wasn't any use lying, "But the Gestapo doesn't have any jurisdiction in Luftwaffe affairs, Major."

The twitch in Hochstetter's expression said he was fully aware of and did not appreciate the fact, but he nodded smoothly. "For now."

_There are always ways around that._

"I'll catch you eventually, Hogan." His knowing grin returned again.

"Nothing to catch me at, Major."

_Like Hell you will._

* * *

"Hey, beautiful," Hogan stepped behind the desk and placed a gentle kiss atop Helga's head.

She sighed, and leaned back to look up at him, "Hello, Colonel Hogan."

"Have I ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?"

She smiled coyly, "More than once, and usually right before you ask me for something."

"You know me so well, it's like we were meant to be."

She rolled her eyes.

Hogan sighed, "I need Sergeant Barnes' file and any paperwork with his name on it to disappear."

She sat up a little straighter, "What happened?" Still, she reached for the file folder.

"You don't worry about it," Hogan said, "We've got it taken care of."

She pulled out a file, fairly slim, and handed it to him, "You know I'm in trouble, too, if you're caught."

"I won't let that happen, baby, I promise."

She looked skeptical.

* * *

Hogan couldn't bring himself to burn the file, just yet.

Maybe we'll need it for something, he told himself. Just to look back, reference.

Yeah, right.

Still, he put the file in the cabinet in the radio room.

LINE BREAK

"Do continue, Colonel," Hogan leaned forward as Klink sat back, glazing eyes focused elsewhere.

"So, then my father told me, 'Wilhelm, you're a wonderful boy, and I love you, but you're not good at sports, or maths, and you're not any good with women and you're a terrible vocationalist, you'll never make it as a politician." He went on, but Hogan tuned him out.

He refilled Klink's glass. The decanter was nearly empty, and it was nearly time for Hogan to take his leave and let the alcohol handle the rest.

"So I joined the army," Klink sighed, and the word 'army' caught Hogan's attention just long enough for him to dismiss the fact again. Klink, he had discovered time and time again, revealed absolutely nothing of worth while drunk.

"That's nice." Hogan said, "Well, Colonel, I think I'd better head back to the barracks. It's nearly time for roll call." He stood up. In fact, roll call had been about an hour and a half ago, but Klink was not going to notice nor care. "I'll see you tomorrow. Oh, and don't forget you promised to let Garlotti, Joseph, and Davis and - out of the cooler tomorrow. Make a not of it."

"Uh-huh," Klink leaned forward, scribbling something on the end of one of his reports.

Hogan studied it, "Legible enough for me. Auf wiedersehen, Kommandant."

Klink lifted his glass, regarding it curiously, and then, with a decisive, exaggerated nod, downed it in one gulp.

* * *

"Something actually wrong with it this time?" Hogan beheld the spectacle that was Klink's car, caked in mud spray, a noticeable scratch on the driver's door, leaves and twigs scattered about inside.

Broughton pushed himself up from beneath the hood, "No kidding!" He said indignantly, reaching for a tool, "How drunk did you get him, Colonel?" He ducked back into the car.

"Quite." Hogan said bluntly, "What's wrong?"

He shrugged. "He's stripped out a couple different pieces, used up all of his brake fluid, and somehow -," He yanked out a piece that was hardly recognizable (at least Hogan thought, he couldn't recognize it either way), charred and mangled beyond recovery. "I don't know how he managed to make it back in one piece."

"Maybe he's part Irish," Carter offered from where he was cleaning out the interior.

Broughton snorted, "I doubt that." He resurfaced, leaning on the heels of his oily hands, "It's gonna be a day or two before it's running again, Colonel."

Hogan nodded, "I think that ought to be okay. I haven't got anything planned."

"What if Klink has plans?" Carter asked.

Broughton shook his head, "Then he's going to be real disappointed."


	12. Chapter 12

Joseph stepped into the barracks, damp towel slung over his shoulder and a soggy paper-wrapped bar of soap in hand.

He stuck the soap back in his locker, and tossed the towel over the end of the bunk.

"Isn't Davis back from the shower?" Carter asked.

Joseph nodded. He was pale, whether from lack of sunlight or sleep was debatable. Probably both.

"He went on a walk," He said softly, and sat down at the table.

LeBeau handed him a tin cup of coffee and he mumbled his thanks, and wrapped his hands around it.

He took a sip and shuddered, but still kept drinking. It was, after all, the first hot drink he'd gotten in - a week? Something like that.

"That's good," He murmured when he paused for breath. "Thanks."

LeBeau nodded. "Oui - are you hungry?"

Joseph shook his head. "No thanks. I ate a little bit."

LeBeau looked a bit skeptical, but nodded.

Joseph stared down at his coffee for a few more minutes, and then looked up at Colonel Hogan. "Did you talk to Garlotti at all? Sir?"

"He should be back sometime today," Hogan said.

He smiled a little, clearly relieved. "That's good."

* * *

The knock on the underside of the bunk was earnestly anticipated and long overdue.

Kinch was the closest and quickly opened up the bunk, and put a hand on Garlotti's arm as he climbed up.

He was drained.

"Garlotti!" Joseph was the first to him, stopping just short of a hug and standing quietly in front of him, unsure what to do.

Garlotti looked at Joseph and smiled wearily, "Missed you."

Joseph nodded, and then gently tugged Garlotti to the table.

He dropped onto one of the chairs, and rested his elbows on the table and his head on his folded hands.

After a moment he drew a breath and asked, "So - is everything - how are - did -."

"It's fine, Garlotti," Hogan said, "We got it taken care of."

He nodded, "I'm sorry."

"Garlotti," Carter started softly, "It's not -."

"Don't." His hand hit the tabletop, palm flat.

A moment later he sank, "I'm sorry, I just -." He shook his head, "Dammit."

He looked back up at Joseph, and then down again, and then up with confusion, "Aren't you - we - supposed to be in the cooler?"

"The Colonel got us released," Joseph said, smiling awkwardly.

"Oh." He looked at Hogan. "Thanks."

"Yeah."

Garlotti looked around, "So - what's been going on - while I was gone?" Hogan saw him make eye contact with Davis, sitting on his bunk in silence. Both gazes darted away.

"Not a lot." Carter shrugged.

"Hochstetter's been giving us no end of trouble," Newkirk grumbled. "Swear, every time you turn around there's another bloody surprise inspection."

"Yeah, Hochstetter's even worse this time around," Olsen added.

"He's just trying something other than the good old nuisance trick," Hogan said reassuringly. "As soon as his superiors hear he's wasting time, or a bigger fish comes along, he'll be gone. Don't worry."

* * *

Hogan woke up in a cold sweat.

It took him a moment to reorient himself, but after a moment he identified the scratchy blanket and the splinters in the wood of the bunk frame, and as he felt around a little more his fingers brushed against the small bookshelf and photos, curled at the edges, pinned and tapes to the wall.

He sat up, rolled his shoulders, and rubbed the blear out of his eyes.

It was cold, but he still hopped down from his bunk and stepped out into the main room.

He counted. Fourteen.

Fourteen men. That was his count now. That was the new normal.

A few months before, fifteen had been the new normal. He'd agonized over empty bunks and letters to families before and this time was really no different.

He wouldn't mind having sixteen again.

Wouldn't mind being home either. Or the war being over. Wouldn't mind a lot of things he wasn't going to get.

Almost startling him, somebody suddenly grunted, "Colonel? 'Sat you?"

Hogan looked at Davis as he sat up. "I hope not. Were you asleep?"

He shrugged. "Depends."

"On?"

"Your definition of sleep." Davis sighed.

Hogan was about to say more when Davis held up a hand. "You hear that?" He stood up, crossing to the window. "Someone's coming into camp."

He stepped back and Hogan leaned forward, peering through the broken slat in the blinds.

"Yeah." He murmured. "Gestapo."

"It's nearly 2 AM," Davis said.

"I know, the only nutjobs up should be us two. Come on." Hogan waved Davis into his office and pulled out the coffeepot.

After plugging it in and a healthy amount of jiggling and smacking to clear the static, they heard voices.

First, Schultz, rather apologetically, "Captain, the Kommandant should only be a few minutes."

Hogan could hear the condescending nod. "Good. I am sorry to arrive so late, but it was a long drive."

"Of course. Where from?"

"The Netherlands, actually. Nijmegen."

"We could have waited until morning," Another man added, clearly unimpressed that they hadn't.

"Yes, but, it was urgent."

A snort. "It really was not."

"But it is good of us to come now, Fischer, as our duty. We'll be able to get started right away tomorrow!"

Davis made a face. Clearly Fischer's companion had already made a sour impression on him. Hogan felt the same way.

"You want me to wake the others?"

Hogan shook his head, "Not yet." If they were going to lose sleep anyways over the next few days, they needed as much as they could get. "They're from Nijmegen…" There were two possibilites; one which he didn't dare hope for and the other which was all too likely.

There was the opening and shutting of a door, and Klink, exhausted but doing his utmost to appear cheery, "Gentleman! Always a pleasure to hear from the Gestapo."

The two eavesdroppers shared a snort of disbelief.

"Herr Kommandant, we are sorry to wake you at this hour." There was a creaking of chairs, "I am Captain Stein, and this is Captain Fischer. We have just come from Nijmegen, and we were hoping you would be able to accomodate us for the night?"

Fischer grunted. "What's left of it, at least."

Stein sighed.

"Well, I most certainly can. Schultz, show them to the guest quarters, please, are either of you hungry?"

"No, but thank you, Kommandant. We'll just go straight to bed, it's been a long day."

They exchanged a few more useless pleasantries, and Hogan unplugged the pot.

"For Gestapomen, they're awfully polite," He said.

Davis nodded. "They came from Nijmegen, you think they got something to do with Barnes?"

Hogan put the pot away, and thought a moment before he said, "I don't know. I imagine it's probably pretty chaotic anyways. Nobody was expecting the Allies to bomb the Netherlands."

"So it could be anything."

"Well, yes." Hogan crossed his arms. "And there shouldn't be any reason for the Gestapo to be looking here for anything. And Barnes and Garlotti didn't have anything on them that would have pointed here."

"What if somebody overheard them speaking English?" Offered Davis.

He shook his head. "That wouldn't have meant Stalag 13. So far away, they wouldn't have known which camp to investigate. Or even if it was a prison camp. Could have been commandos, or something like that."

"So whatever they're doing, it's no business with us." Davis concluded, simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

"Maybe not." Hogan smiled tiredly. "But we've got business with them."


	13. Chapter 13

The next day found Hogan and his main crew crowded into his office, while Broughton watched the door, Baker manned the radio, and the others went about the more legitimate chores.

It was oddly, uncomfortably normal.

During roll call, they had seen Stein and Fischer going towards the Kommandant's office, and now, as they waited for Klink to finish licking their boots and get to the point, Hogan filled his men in on what had happened the previous night - or, rather, that morning.

"Maybe they do got something to do with Barnes!" Carter burst as soon as Hogan had finished. He wasn't bothering to hide his optimism.

"I doubt it, Carter, we can't be that lucky." Hogan shook his head. "But whatever these two are up to, we're going to muck it up."

"Well, gentlemen, what does bring you to the area?" Klink finally got around to it.

"Well, Colonel, as you may have heard, the Allies just recently bombed Nijmegen." Stein began. "They had attempted to attack our air bases, and as they fled they dropped the bombs on the city."

Klink went through more than the appropriate amount of fretting and cursing the Allies, and then Fischer broke in.

"Anyways!" He barked. Klink went silent. "Because Nijmegen is an utter disaster, we have been attempting to move the wounded to other cities. The Gestapo is taking responsibility for their men who were wounded, and arranging their relocation."

"And this brings you to Hammelburg?" Klink asked.

"_Ja,_ we are to take charge of the relocation project for this area. There are several officers from here and nearby and our job is to notify their commanding officers and their families."

"Oh, of course. I'd be glad to help in any way."

"We will not need your help," Fischer snapped.

"Oh." Klink was quite clearly taken aback. "Then - why did you come here?"

"We do not have to pay for board." He stated bluntly. "And we are safe from Allied attacks."

Klink made an odd, vaguely affirmative sound in his throat.

The chairs creaked. "Well, Kommandant, we should only be staying here for a few days, working with the Hammelburg Gestapo. And we should be leaving, so we can get started right away."

"I see gentlemen, I wish you the best of luck. And, of course -"

Hogan sighed and shook his head. "I'm getting a bit tired of Klink's sickening manners." He motioned for Baker to unplug the coffeepot.

"I've been tired of him since I first laid eyes on him," Newkirk said dryly. "How're we planning on messing these guys up, Colonel?"

Hogan paused. "I'm not sure yet. But they've got to have records on them, of their people in Nijmegen."

"Boy it'd be nice if we could get a hold of that," Carter grinned.

Hogan nodded thoughtfully. "LeBeau, have you been keeping your cooking skills up-to-date?"

LeBeau sighed, "_Oui, mon colonél._"

"Wonderful," Hogan stood up. "All Klink has to do is have those two for dinner, and we'll get into the back room."

"They won't be back until late, though," Newkirk pointed out. "Probably have dinner in town."

Hogan shrugged. "Do it tomorrow, then." He was grinning.

Then he felt guilty for it, and shook his head, "All right, fellas. I'll head and pitch it to Klink. Plan on that."

Soon enough he set off across the compound, and stepped into the office.

Helga looked up. "Yes, Colonel Hogan?"

"Hey," He grinned. "Is the ole Iron Eagle in?"

She smiled, "Yes, he's in. He won't like you disturbing him."

"That's never stopped me before," Hogan retorted, and strode into Klink's office.

Klink glowered at him. "Hogan."

"Kommandant," Hogan said with a grin. "How you been?"

"I was doing fine, before you walked in." Klink sighed. "What do you want?"

"Oh, just bored, you know, not much to do, thought I'd see what the latest gossip was on the German side of things." Hogan said innocently.

Klink groaned. "What, American gossip isn't good enough?"

He shrugged. "All that's happening lately is that somebody's cousin is marrying a guy she met a month ago, but that news is so old she's probably got grandkids."

"Hogan."

"Well, I just _happened _to hear a truck pull up last night, and I _happened _to see a couple of sour-looking fellas walk into your office this morning, and the guys and I were just curious if you wanted your going-away present before, during, or after the send-off party."

If looks could kill.

"We're talking about the Russian front here, by the way, Kommandant."

Klink sighed, "Hogan, those two men are merely staying here while attending business in town. Why in the _world _would they want me at the Russian front?"

"Jealousy." Hogan could recall rambling the same pitch, about a month ago. "Your perfect record can't look any good for the Gestapo. All they got to do is get an excuse to out you."

"The Gestapo needs an excuse," Klink deadpanned, "I doubt it."

"Oh, it doesn't have to be any big excuse. They'll take anything. I mean - maybe they don't like the food or something," Hogan waved his hand and made a sharp whistling sound. "Off you go."

Klink made a face. "The food isn't very good…"

"Why, did Hinkelman leave?"

"Oh, he's still with us."

"Oh," Hogan nodded. "I see. Well, Kommandant, I guess it's Au Revoir. Don't worry, Baker knits, he'll make you a nice muffler. Or something. Seeya." He stood up, saluted sloppily, and left.

He winked at Helga as he made his way to the door.

As soon as his hand touched the handle the door to Klink's office flew open.

"Hogan?"

Hogan feigned surprise. "Sir?"

"The Frenchman is going to cook dinner tomorrow night."

Hogan paused, blinked, and said innnocently, "Well, Kommandant, you know you can't make LeBeau work for free."

"An extra ration of bread for your barracks."

"For each man in the barracks?"

He grit his teeth. "Fine."

"How about an extra hour of light?"

"I'm already giving you an extra hour for the _last _time he cooked!"

"Oh, right, I'd forgotten. Keep the rec hall open an extra two hours."

"One."

"Fair enough." Hogan stuck out his hand.

Klink glared at him, but reluctantly shook it.


	14. Chapter 14

Not too long after he'd been shot down, Hogan's mother, bless her heart, had sent him a dress uniform that she'd somehow managed to get a hold of. It was only a bit loose around the waist, he was thinner than he had been, but he still wore it quite proudly. It hadn't taken long for Klink to invite-order Hogan to the party, clearly he realized the audacity of putting himself in a room with three Gestapo men and no prestige to wield. It aggravated Hogan to no end that he had to be Klink's trophy, but it was an impossibly good position to be in and, at this point, had probably won the Allies the war.

He tucked the ever-present loose thread back under the metal eagle, smoothed his uniform, and knocked on the door.  
After only a second it was opened by Schultz, standing stiff and sporting a pair of white gloves, looking as dapper as a barrel in German uniform could be.

Inside, Hochstetter, Stein, and Fischer sat glaring at each other, Klink caught in the middle. Hogan wasn't sure if they disliked each other or if it was simply Gestapo courtesy to always look at people like they were piles of garbage. Probably both, he decided, and perhaps he was going crazy, making jokes to himself.

Hochstetter didn't bother to hide his disgust at seeing Hogan.

"Hogan." He smiled icily. "Long time, no see, as the Americans say?" Just a few hours before, he had upturned the barracks again, uncovering nothing but a spoon that Olsen had sharpened by jamming in the locker door multiple times over.

"Hochstetter," Hogan said smoothly. "So nice to see you again." He didn't bother to hide the ice in his tone.

Hochstetter snarled.

Greetings were exchanged, Carter and Newkirk served (and Newkirk slipped into the back room), and idle conversation began. Hogan was by now well-versed in delivering flippant snips and picking out important information from otherwise dull conversations, and took the opportunity to look over Stein and Fischer.

Neither looked particularly interesting. In fact, they shared the same slouch, frown lines, and round stomachs, Stein's only slightly smaller than his companion's. Stein was bald, Fischer appeared to be fighting it and losing the battle.

" - and we did locate the family of most of our men, which was fortunate." Hogan tuned back into the conversation. "Hopefully, by tomorrow or the next day, we will be on our way."

Well, that was good. Dealing with one Nazi was exhausting enough. At this point he was managing to juggle several and he was ready to downsize.

Fischer grunted. "We still have to contact plenty of families. And one man doesn't seem to know anyone from this area at all. And yet he insists he is from here."

"Fischer, I'm sure they just live out of town. Maybe they are harder to contact, but we will find them!" Stein, it seemed, was the poster child for the machine of the Third Reich.

Fischer snorted. "He just got hit on the head. It's a wonder he remembers his own name."

Stein huffed. "The hospital said he did not have any brain damage."

"A building fell on him, Stein. On top of him." Fischer rolled his eyes significantly, and Hogan shifted in his seat.

"Too bad Colonel Klink couldn't really help you out," He said innocently. "He doesn't really get out much, not a lot of friends, acquaintances, you know how it is."

Klink bristled, just as Hogan had known he would. "However much time I do spend running this camp," He said, "I am always willing to try to help. What's the man's name? I may know him." He glared at Hogan. Boy, was he going to be in for it later.

Fischer grunted. "Baum-something. Stein?"

Hogan's heart skipped a beat. He met Carter's eyes, standing just behind Stein.

"Oh," Stein paused in thought, and then said, "Baumgartner. Ja, that was it, Nöel Baumgartner."

Carter started.

Thankfully, nobody noticed.

"Baumgartner," Hogan said loudly, hoping to cover the surprised squeak from Carter. "Haven't heard of him. Of course, I don't even get out as much as Colonel Klink does." He shot Carter a look, and thankfully he looked indifferent again, leaning over to fill up Stein's wine glass.

Newkirk stepped out of the kitchen, and nodded decisively to Hogan.

Hogan looked back at the group at the table as the conversation carried on. There wasn't much else to hear. There wasn't much else he needed to hear.

Newkirk and Carter disappeared into the kitchen, and Hogan could tell by the expression on Newkirk's face when they came out again bearing dessert that he'd heard.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. Dry. If anything, it dragged on longer than Hogan thought he could stand, ending with several games of cards, more pointless conversation, alcohol, and finally, midnight found Hogan and his men dragging themselves back to the barracks.

Kinch was waiting up, sitting by the furnace that was their only source of light as well as heat, and whispered. "How'd it go?"

Carter perked up, and took in a breath, but before he could say anything Hogan held up a hand. "You'll wake somebody, Carter. You guys just go to bed. Kinch," He jerked his chin towards his office.

Kinch raised an eyebrow and followed him to his office, where Hogan lit the small lamp sitting on his desk and shrugged out of his uniform coat.

He draped it over the chair, sighed, and said, "Barnes is alive."

"What? Colonel!"

Hogan nodded. "They were talking. There's a Gestapo man, Nöel Baumgartner, says he's from Hammelburg, but they can't find any relatives of his here."

"That's him," Kinch said. "That the name we gave him." He crossed his arms. "God, that's good."

Hogan nodded. "Well." He paused. "Hopefully he's safe. It sounds like they're not suspicious yet, but that'll change soon, I'm sure." He yawned.

"Go to sleep, Colonel."

He shook his head. "We need to figure this out."

"You won't be able to figure anything out exhausted. Go to sleep." Kinch said. "He's not in a torture chamber, he'll keep till morning."

He sighed. "Okay. Fine. You win."

"Good." Kinch nodded, clapped a hand on Hogan's shoulder, and stepped out.


	15. Chapter 15

Hogan - well, he slept that night. He didn't sleep very well, and not for more than half an hour at a time, but he did sleep.

It became a system.

He laid awake, rambling through a few set worrisome questions. How long before Barnes was discovered? It was, after all, not a question of if. Where was he right now? How did he get there? How did he get him out? Especially without attracting unwanted attention? How badly was he injured? He hoped desperately that he _didn't _have amnesia, like Fischer had implied.

But he'd known he was from Hammelburg? What if he said something incriminating? Started speaking English?

Somewhere in the worry, his aching head and heavy eyelids managed to draw him back to sleep, although his sleep then reflected the worry coursing through his veins, and ultimately woke him back up to repeat the cycle all over again.

The next morning found him - admittedly, less exhausted than he'd been the night before, but certainly not fully rested.

He trusted the mug of coffee - poor ingredients with good craftsmanship - handed him to compensate for his missed sleep, and looked at the room and asked. "Did you guys happen to hear what happened last night?"

Surprisingly, most everyone shook their heads.

"We about had to gag him, but we managed to keep Carter's mouth shut." Newkirk said dryly.

"In case you wanted to be the one to share the news."

Hogan nodded. "Good call." He looked around for a moment, both for effective pause and to make sure he had everyone's attention. "We're pretty sure Barnes is alive."

It was dead silent, time was frozen, for a few seconds.

Then Garlotti laughed.

"I'm not joking," Hogan said.

He shook his head. "No, I know. I know." He sat down. "Oh, thank God."

"Well, where is he, then?" Davis asked. "Is he okay? Did you talk to him?"

"We don't know where he is or if he's okay," Hogan said, "He's still using his alias, that's how Stein and Fischer knew about him. They're trying to locate his relations and they're going to be suspicious when they don't find any, so we need to figure something out."

"Well, he's _got_ to be in the hospital!" Carter said. "I mean, that one guy said a building fell on him."

"A _what?!"_ Davis whirled to face Carter.

"And he was alive, Davis," Kinch said. "Well, great, but how do we get to the hospital?"

All eyes turned to Colonel Hogan. Thirteen, plus Barnes, plus Cohen in the infirmary, made a blessed fifteen.

"Oh," He blinked, and then smiled. "That's it."

* * *

After roll call, he found Wilson in the infirmary, playing Solitaire on top of a slew of paperwork scattered on the table.

"How're those going?" Hogan asked, dropping into the chair across from him.

"Oh, peachy." He scooped up his cards. "I finished the part I needed to do, and I told Rosen, if you need you can use my reports to fill out yours, since the man never pays attention and doesn't remember when he does. This was about - three weeks ago? I don't know if he thinks I'm doing them for him or what." He shook his head. "Well, how can I help you?"

"Barnes is alive."

Wilson looked up. "Oh?"

Hogan sighed. "Does nothing sway you?"

"Yesterday I pulled a three-inch nail out of Corporal Rosamund's foot, told him not to wear his boot for a few days, and listened to him say; don't worry, Sarge, I'm fine going barefoot." Wilson closed his eyes, rubbed his temples, and then looked back up at Hogan. "No. Nothing surprises me anymore. But go on. Barnes is alive?"

"Yep. Still in disguise, our best guess is the hospital in Hammelburg since reportedly a building fell on him. Don't know what shape he's in."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "That's not good."

"Not really. But if we can get somebody inside the hospital, I can snoop around, see if I can't find Barnes."

"You're not saying Cohen?"

Hogan glanced towards the cot - empty. "Well, that'd been the plan. I thought you said he'd take a while to recover?"

Wilson shrugged. "He's been doing a bit better. Not a lot, but today's not very dusty so I sent him and Loewe out to do something. I think they're playing cards behind the officers' mess."

"But could I still reason with Klink to send him to the hospital?"

Wilson paused, a long minute, and then said. "Somebody needs to be there. Guard or prisoner, whatever, but from what Loewe tells me it's not a good idea to leave a Jewish prisoner on his own."

"Yeah, I'll finagle that."

"Okay," He nodded slowly. "They'll probably send him home after a day or two, anyways, he's on the mend and a waste of space in their eyes." He frowned. "Load of bull, if you ask me. We wouldn't treat them like that back home. Least we shouldn't."

"True enough." Hogan stood up. "Thanks, Wilson."

"Sure, Colonel. Maybe don't forget to talk to Cohen about this as well?"

Hogan sighed in mock exasperation, "Oh, okay, fine. See you."

"Bye, Colonel."

* * *

"The _what? _Sir?"

Cohen, in Hogan's opinion, didn't look much better than he had when he saw him last, except maybe the bags under his eyes were slightly more the color of his pasty skin.

"The hospital." Hogan went on. "It wouldn't be that long, just enough to see if Barnes is there. Wilson says they'd probably kick you out pretty quick anyways." He saw the growing trepidation on Cohen's face and asked. "What, are you afraid of needles?"

Behind him, leaned against the sun-warmed wall of the officers' mess, Loewe raised a bemused eyebrow.

"Oh." Hogan blinked. "That's right. You're not a huge fan of them, are you?"

He shrugged. "They're really not my idea of a fun time." His voice was still raspy.

"Which is understandable," Loewe pointed out. "Wilson's thinks it's not a big deal, you know, but they're like these tiny little knife tubes that stab you and inject all manner of -"

Cohen wrinkled his nose and Loewe nodded his point.

"It would give me great pleasure to never be withing fifty feet of a hospital ever again." Cohen shuddered. "But if you really need me."

Hogan smirked, and clapped him on the back - gently. "I'll put you in for a medal, kiddo."

"Gosh, thanks. Sir."


	16. Chapter 16

"I do not know why you don't like it, it's not so bad," Schultz said gently. "It's so nice here. You have a clean bed, and a real mattress, and it smells nice."

"Schultz, I'm a grown man." Cohen said hoarsely. He'd gone along to the hospital, willingly, not cheerfully.

Hogan, sitting beside Schultz, pointed out, "Cohen, you're nineteen."

"Almost twenty." Cohen said.

Schultz frowned at that. "Twenty! What are you doing in Germany?"

"You tell me," He scoffed, and then started coughing.

Hogan received a look just short of insubordination as he made a great show of the coughing fit.

When he could breathe again, a nurse walked over.

"Are you approved to be here?" She eyed Hogan and Cohen warily. "Where are you from?"

"_Ja._ We have orders from Kommandant Klink. Of Stalag 13?"

"I know the place." She looked at the pass Schultz held out. "And of course you're checked in."

Schultz laughed. "What else would we do, sneak in?"

"Wouldn't put it past them." She frowned at the two Americans. "Alright. Don't disturb the other patients."

Hogan watched her walk away. "Real amiable types you Germans are, Schultz."

"Oh, shush." He frowned.

"If that's how you like it, then." Hogan stood up. "I'm going to seek out the facilities."

Schultz' eyes widened, "Colonel Hogan, I cannot let you alone in a hospital!"

"Well, Schultz, I don't think I can hold it 'til we get back to camp, and you gotta wait here with Cohen. Promise I won't get into any trouble."

Schultz moaned.

"Alright, thanks. See ya." Hogan waved a cheery good-bye and quickly left the room.

He'd long discovered that, in almost any circumstance, if you acted confident, you could get through. Maybe not always get your way, but you wouldn't get in trouble, at the very least.

So he kept his shoulders straight and walked quickly, not lingering near anybody in the halls.

He soon found an elevator and took it to the second floor.

Here it was much more quiet. The hall was deserted except for a nurse pushing a cart down the hall.

Hogan stepped a few feet towards the cart as the nurse went into one of the rooms, quickly scanning the top sheet of the clipboard. If he could be so lucky -

No. No familiar names.

He stepped back before the nurse reappeared.

"May I help you?" She looked him up and down.

"Umm - yes." Storystorystorystory. "I heard that a colleague of mine, Nöel Baumgartner, of the Gestapo, had been brought here." He spoke in crisp, flawless German.

"A colleague?" She asked nervously.

Hogan gave her a look. "Nobody is to know, _fraulein._ Top secret."

"Oh. Of course." She looked at her clipboard, flipped through the pages. "Herr Baumgartner is in room 214. Just down the hall. Sir."

"_Danke."_ Hogan nodded firmly, and strode down the hall. It only took a minute to find the room, and then he took a deep, steadying breath before pushing the door open.

He stepped into the room. The man in the first bed was not Barnes, thank goodness, whoever he was he was in bad shape.

He pulled back the curtain and smiled with relief.

He looked a bit more dead than alive, but he was alive, as told by the shallow rise and fall of his chest. And the weak smile on his face, however gray it was.

"Colonel - Col - h-," He frowned. "I'mmm - not dreaming, am I?"

"No, it's really good old me," Hogan stepped forward as he tried to push himself up, and just caught him when he fell back with a pained grunt. "Hey, just lie still."

He bit his lip and nodded tightly. After a moment he breathed, "Thanks."

"Easy," Hogan said, and then folded his arms. "So, what's the synopsis?" He looked around, and spied a clipboard.

Unfortunately, he realized when he'd picked it up, he didn't know most of the medical terms in German.

"There's a lot," Barnes said hoarsely. "I was stuck under the building for -" He broke off, then shrugged one shoulder.

"At any rate, you're not going anywhere." Hogan looked around, picked up a pen, and started scribbling the unfamiliar words on his arm. There was bound to be somebody back at camp who could translate.

"No, sir."

He nodded. "So what happened?"

"Umm - it was a mess, the town, nobody expected it to be…" He frowned. "Was it bombed? Why?"

"Yeah, the Allies bombed it. Nobody knows why yet. London either doesn't know or isn't telling." Hogan shook his head.

"Huh," He drew another breath and continued. "But anyways - it must've been a makeshift hospital - something. I was in. I don't really know - I kept passing out."

"But you told somebody you were from Hammelburg," Hogan added. "That's how you ended up here."

"Yeah," His voice was tiring. "People were taking names, trying to figure out what to do. I told 'em - that I was SS-Hauptsturmführer Nöel Baumgartner -" Another breath. "An' I lived in Hammelburg." He finally sighed tiredly, eyes threatening to drift shut.

"Okay." Hogan nodded. "I'd better get back before Schultz misses me and you'd better get some rest. Remember you're German, okay?" He patted his arm, just above where the IV tube went under his skin.

A small smile. "Yeah. Thanks, Colonel. Tell the guys I said hi."

"They'll be glad to hear it, sergeant. Now take care."

"Uh-huh."

Hogan left with a quiet smile on his face.

On his way back to the elevator, he passed the nurse. She watched him with wide eyes and he nodded to her, "Thank you, ma'am, you've been very helpful."

"_Jawohl,"_ She murmured, ducking her head.

Hogan felt bad for intimidating the poor woman. But that was what he and everyone else was fighting for, was so people didn't have to be scared like that.

He quickly found his way back to the room that Cohen was in.

"Heya, Schultz. Sorry I took so long. You know how that prison food gets ya."

Schultz groaned. "Colonel Hogan, I have told you many times I want to know nothing."

"Yeah, sure. How's the kid?"

"Asleep," Schultz said, "He couldn't help it. Why are you smiling?"

"Oh?" Hogan asked innocently. "Am I?" He thought he'd gotten good enough at controlling his expressions.

"_Ja._ Why are you so happy?" Schultz frowned. "Was there any monkey business - no! I do not want to know!"

Hogan scoffed. "Well, that's good. There's not much you'd want to know about a man's trip to the can."


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: This is your reminder that you all should read "Wings" by John Monk Saunders, I found a copy of it at a thrift store yesterday, read it last night, and cried. It's set in World War 1 and a very insightful and moving book.**

**Also, it appears that I have, again, forgotten to mention that I don't own these characters. Oops. I don't own these characters.**

Hogan made two more trips to the "little boys' room", conveniently discerning the layout of the first and second floors, and, unconveniently, hiding in the supply closet for a half hour when two nurses got chatty in the hall. He may have been able to convince one, but he didn't want to take any more risks than he had to.

Finally, he made his way back to Schultz, plunked down in a chair, and said in his patented bored twelve-year-old voice, "When's Langenscheidt supposed to be back here so you can haul me back to Hell?"

Schultz rolled his eyes and looked at his watch. "Any time now."

"I do sincerely hope that he takes it upon himself to remain dutifully at his post," Hogan said. He did mean it.

"Oh, of course." Schultz nodded firmly. "Karl may be the only one who would not run off to the beer hall. That is why I assigned him. He can't hold his beer."

Hogan smirked. "Thanks, Schultz. You know you're not a bad guy."

"Danke."

"For a kraut, that is."

Schultz moaned.

Hogan smirked and looked up as the door to the room opened, and a nurse stepped in with Langenscheidt just behind her.

She pointed to where Hogan and Schultz, sat, and Langenscheidt hurriedly thanked her and scurried over.

"Hi there, Langenscheidt." Hogan stood up. "You ready for a week of the easiest guard duty you ever saw?"

"_Ja."_ Langenscheidt smiled a little. Hogan had no doubt he would enjoy it.

Schultz sighed. "Lucky. Alright, let's go."

"Say hi for me when Cohen wakes up," Hogan smiled cheekily at Langenscheidt and the young guard sighed.

The ride back to camp was entirely uneventful, and when Hogan stepped into the barracks he was not surprised to see that the place was, again, a disaster.

"We had company?" He asked.

The response was a universal groan, and LeBeau said, "_Mon Colonél,_ Hochstetter's goons have broken three of my good bowls since they arrived." With traditional French flare, he dropped the pieces of one onto Carter's bunk. "I'll have to cook in cups soon enough!"

Hogan watched him storm about a little more, and then looked at Kinch. "You get that list sent to London?"

"Yep," Kinch said. "They appreciated it."

"Not so much they have another assignment for us, do they?"

"Thankfully not," He sighed. "I told them about the situation, and since it's kind of their fault Garlotti and Barnes were in Nijmegen I think they felt a little bad about it."

Hogan sighed. "Well, works for me. Oh!" He looked up. "Talked to Barnes, by the way."

"What?" They all spun to face him.

"How is he?" Davis asked earnestly.

"Oh, he's alive," Hogan said. "Rough shape, but alive. He says hi." He pulled up his sleeve. "I copied this down from the clipboard but I don't know what any of it means."

Kinch frowned at the scribbles. "You'd have to ask Wilson, or Loewe. I doubt the medical terms are in my dictionary."

"Hmm." Hogan tugged his sleeve back down. "I'll do that. Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

"You mean _besides_ the destruction of _my_ utensils?" LeBeau flung his arms out.

Everyone sighed. Hogan got the impression LeBeau had been going on about this a while.

"Yes, LeBeau, besides that."

Kinch sighed and said, "Hochstetter was ranting to Klink earlier. He did try to arrange for a transfer into his authority. Klink wouldn't let him, though, unless he had a superior to authorize it."

"Well, they're not supposed to transfer between branches, are they?" Carter asked.

"No," Hogan said. "But if the big shots get involved, none of them particularly care about the Conventions. Not in the Gestapo, anyways."

"How likely is it that Hochstetter can get authorization?" Addison asked softly.

Hogan looked at him. "His colleagues all think he's nuts. It's a million to one chance he gets what he wants, and there's no way I'm letting him have any of you." He looked around to emphasize his point. "And speaking of which, let's make a plan to get Barnes out of the lion's den."

This brought them together, and the occupants crowded around the table as Kinch pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket (he always had them on him), and handed them to Hogan.

Hogan started drawing, not doing a particularly nice job, and talking. "This is about what the first floor lookes like. There's an elevator here and here, a flight of stairs here, the room Cohen's in is here." He turned the page and started scribbling again. "This is the second floor. Barnes is in 214. The second bed - of four. I didn't see any guards inside the building."

"So it shouldn't be too hard then, to get him out?" Olsen asked. "Once we come up with a story for it."

Newkirk scoffed. "Since when has anything turned out the way it _should_ be?"

There was a collective grunt of agreement, and Hogan said, "We've got time to make a story yet. Cohen should be home in a day or two - Langenscheidt is guarding him. And it seems to me he's quite anticipating a few days of doing nothing, so I'm not worried about that." Not _too_ worried, anyways. "Barnes isn't in any condition to go anywhere yet."

Davis frowned. "He gonna be okay, Colonel?"

Hogan shrugged. "I'm not a doctor. And I only talked do him for a few minutes." He really wasn't sure. "I'll ask Wilson about these." He motioned to his arm. "He'll know."

"Well, the man's got enough jackassery in him to keep him alive," Newkirk said. "And that's better than any medicine I've ever seen."

"Oh," LeBeau needled. "You speak from experience?"

"No. Newkirk lifted his chin. "Eyewitness experience."

LeBeau sputtered and flew into vehement French.

This broke up the small meeting, and Hogan stood and went into his office.

Kinch followed, and nudged the door shut behind him.

"Who'd Hochstetter try to transfer?" Hogan asked softly.

"Myself, Carter, Foster, and Joseph." Kinch replied.

Hogan winced. Kinch was the only one of the four he knew wouldn't let them force anything from him - the others would certainly rather die than give away the operation, but Joseph was small and panicky, Carter talked when he was delirious, and Foster relied so heavily on his God that Hogan wondered what would happen if, by some miracle, they managed to take Him away from the man. Maybe they could have lasted. But whether they talked or not, Hochstetter would kill them all in the end. Shot while trying to escape. Suspicion of espionage. Any reason that would look viable on paper.

"What do you think are the chances he'll get authorization, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

Hogan sighed. "I don't think he will. But be ready. Just in case."

Kinch nodded and Hogan said firmly. "But as long as it's in my power, Hochstetter isn't going to hurt any one of you. You have my word on that."


	18. Chapter 18

**Hi all!**

**Considering I haven't updated this story since last December, and I'm worried about what feels like a half-dozen plots going on right now (in real life as well as the story), please feel free to give me a holler if something doesn't make sense. :)**

**To quickly sum up the past chapters - our heroes find Barnes in the hospital, when Cohen ends up there with pneumonia, Hochstetter and Co. have set up shop at Stalag 13, and Stein and Fischer, a couple Nazis trying to figure out where Barnes (using an assumed name) belongs, are also bunking at Ye Olde Homestead.**

**All the best, and stay safe.**

Wilson took Hogan's arm in his, tilted his head to the side, and frowned. "Gosh, Colonel, your handwriting's awful. Collapsed lung... " He paused. "Ribs 11 and 12 broken…" He raised an eyebrow. "Busted his left ankle, dislocated his left shoulder. Hoo-ey. I hope that's all of it?"

"I think so," Hogan said. "How soon could we get him out?"

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "With or without considerable pain? You ever had a collapsed lung?"

"Can't say I have," Hogan replied dryly.

"It hurts. To put it nicely. I mean -" Wilson sighed. "He'll be fine, eventually, they'll probably want to release him in a few days assuming his lung heals up like it should, I doubt they want to keep him for more than they have to, but even after he's out he needs to take it easy for quite a while."

Hogan frowned, deep in though for a moment. "Could we move him if we had to?"

The medic sighed. "Colonel, I'd really rather you didn't."

"I would, too, but if the need arises…"

Wilson shook his head. "If it's absolutely necessary, I suppose, yeah, but that's not to say Klink won't figure it out once he sees the poor guy limping and wheezing about." He paused and sighed. "It'd be a lot better if you waited, Colonel, just to let his body patch itself up a bit more, and besides you don't know how long he's been in the hospital - it could have taken a while to even find him. And broken bones need weeks to even start to recover, not to mention everything else. Without any idea how serious it is, you could really hurt him." He finished his speech with a pointed look, crossing his arms and squaring his shoulders.

Hogan nodded thoughtfully. He stood and walked to the sink to scrub the ink off of his arm.

He twisted the knob and frowned. "Your sink out?"

"Oh, no, sir." Pasternak said. He jumped down from his bunk and knelt down by the sink, fiddling with the hose until water trickled from the pipe. "Say, Colonel, next time you talk to the Kommandant you might suggest getting Hut 8 a new sink? The faucet's broken, and it either leaks or it's all clogged up, 'cuz' Wilson keeps using it to clean stuff."

"Yeah, he dropped a needle in there one time and poked all sorts of holes in it before we got it out," Mikhailov added. "We've got it all taped up."

"No, it was a scalpel." Ross shook his head.

Mikhailov frowned. "But I thought the needle broke, cuz Wilson couldn't even use it once we got it out."

Ross paused, and frowned, and Peterson sighed. "It doesn't matter what it was, fellas, either way our sink's shot and we all know who's to blame."

As eyes turned to him Wilson grunted and flung his hands up. "After all I do for you."

There was a chorus of protests and Hogan smirked. "Well, no promises, but when I get the chance I'll be sure to mention the depraved residents of Barracks 8 to Klink. See you around." He loosely returned the slew of half-salutes from about the room, nodded to Wilson, and left.

He reentered the barracks and Davis waited all of two seconds for him to close the door before asking, "Well?"

"He should be fine, Wilson says," Hogan assured them, "As long as nothing goes wrong."

"What's that mean?" Carter frowned.

"As long as the Gestapo doesn't catch up to us," Hogan said, "In which case it won't matter what condition he's in right now, we'll all be in the same boat soon enough."

There were several soft, disapproving grunts from around the room, and Davis dropped his head into his hands, muttering something that Hogan couldn't quite catch but sounded at any rate to be exhausted, frustrated, and a bit scared.

"It'll be okay," Hogan said, not at all convincingly. "We'll figure something out. We always do."

"Sure," Davis said sourly. "Every time someone's half-dead in an enemy hospital disguised as a Gestapoman and nearly -" He broke off, running out as his ramble turned into an angry mutter, and stood up abruptly.

"Barry," Newkirk said, and Davis shook his head.

"I'll be okay. I'm - I'll be back." He strode out.

There was a long bit of silence, and surprisingly enough it was Addison who broke it.

"This place sucks."

* * *

Two days later, Hogan was quite sure the tension in the barracks was so awful it would combust if somebody's toes got stepped on. Certainly, nobody was mad at anybody else, but Davis didn't appear to have gotten much sleep at all, if any, and snapped at anyone who lent themselves to being snapped at. Nobody liked being snapped at, but were doing their best to let it slide, partially because everyone was too tired to deal with it and partially because they knew how worried Davis was. That wasn't to say they weren't worried, but Davis would go to Hell and back with Barnes and, in a way, already had.

But Hogan could tell they were all getting fed up with each other, and he would gladly admit he was more than a bit worried about what would happen if and when things did fall apart. If only he had someone to admit it to.

Apparently Colonel Klink was having similar issues, and would happily moan about them to anyone who had ears. This turned out to be Colonel Hogan, whom he called into his office for that exact purpose.

"Hogan, allllllll of my officers are complaining to me," He moaned. "Gruber requested a leave. Schmidt requested a leave. Baer lodged a formal complaint. Berger has not turned in any of the reports I needed from him. I've hardly _seen_ Berger, as a matter of fact. Hogan, my camp is falling into anarchy!"

"Uh-huh." Hogan was wary when he said. "My men aren't so happy with it either." He had already spotted the small black disc stuck on the underside of the edge of Klink's desk, and Klink, he was sure, knew about it too, if not the exact location.

Klink either didn't hear him or didn't care. "And all Sergeant Schultz reports from the enlisted men are complaining, more leave requests, and one threatened desertion."

"Desertion?" Hogan feigned interest. He was in fact staring at a sliver of wood on the leg of Klink's desk and wondering at the chances of it getting lodged underneath someone's toenail, and then the chances of that someone being a Nazi. "Who was that?"

"Corporal Theiss."

Hogan snorted. "Theiss couldn't find his way out of a well-lit barrel, Colonel, he's not going anywhere."

"Hmmf," Klink rested his head in his hand, frowning at his cigar. "At least Stein and Fischer are leaving."

"Really?" Hogan asked, trying not to sound too interested. "Hey, they ever figure out what the deal was with that fella, umm -"

"Baumgartner," Klink said. "No, they didn't, but they don't have any more time to waste on him. As soon as he is released from the hospital he'll be well enough to figure it out himself. Speaking of which," He sat up with a heavy sigh. "Cohen is being released this afternoon."

Hogan sat up. "You couldn't have mentioned this earlier?"

Klink just grumbled something unintelligible. "Schultz is leaving to go get him at three."

"Fifteen hundred, you mean."

He waved a dismissive hand.

Hogan stood up. "Well. Thanks."

Neither of them mentioned that Hogan planned on going along with Schultz. Klink was gullible and excitable, but he had been smart enough to get promoted to Colonel.

"Dismissed, Colonel Hogan."

"Right, see you around."

As Hogan left, he heard a sigh of long-suffering from Klink.

He glanced at Helga. "Klink's really taking this well."

Helga hid a smile, and glanced over at the filing cabinet.

Hogan nodded in understanding, waved good-bye, and left the building.

A moment later he slipped back in, tiptoed over to Helga, placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and left again.


	19. Chapter 19

As he neared Barracks 2, Colonel Hogan caught the distinct scent of dough, and glanced around the courtyard. Schultz presented a clearly visible silhouette off by one of the guards' barracks, chatting to one of the guards - from his wild gesticulations and swaying posture he was complaining about something. If he wandered a dozen yards more this direction he'd be within sniffing range.

He entered the building and found LeBeau, Carter, and Foster sitting around the table, hands white with flour, rolling dough balls between their hands and adding them to the pyramid growing near the stove.

Hogan watched them for a minute and then asked, "How are you going to cook buns when we don't have an oven?"

"I have a plan," LeBeau stated confidently.

"I'll take your word for it. Hey, and be careful, you know Schultz'll be here within the hour."

"Oh, it won't really start to smell until we start to cook them," LeBeau said, "I even had a bit of butter to add."

"Aw, he'll show up soon enough anyways trying to avoid those SS men," Foster said, plucking another lump of sticky dough from the bowl. "If they don't beat him here."

"Boy, that's true," Carter agreed, "It's unnerving, having all those guys watching us all the time."

"Almost like being in a prison camp?" Hogan asked.

"Yeah!" Foster and Carter answered together, emphatically.

"Oh, well!" Hogan scoffed. "Now that's just unacceptable."

"Truly a shame," Newkirk drawled from his place at his bunk where he laid on his back idly fiddling with a playing card, making it disappear from one hand, reappear in the other, and vice versa. Newkirk had been doing quite well with the whole disaster, with not much more than his usual amount of complaining, until the SS guards caught on that he and the other "troublemakers" in camp liked to play poker together in the rec hall. Now their table was never under less than three pairs of beady eyes and there were about 10 men in camp whom nobody really wanted to be around (moreso than the others, that is), Barracks 2's Englishman being one of them. "Can't get a minute's peace without somebody poking around somewhere."

To prove his point, the door swung open, and an SS man stood in the doorway, glaring at them for several seconds.

"Sorry," Hogan said blithely, "We're not open yet."

He sent Hogan a withering look and strode out, leaving the door open to let in the cold air.

Hogan reached out and pushed it shut. "If looks could kill, fellas, you'd be in search of a new CO. Anyways," He shook his head. "I'm sneaking along with Schultz this afternoon to get Cohen back."

Everyone brightened, save for Newkirk, who scoffed. "Fine treat he's coming back to."

"It's about the same as when he left," LeBeau offered.

"Oh, sure it is," Newkirk flicked the card into the air and it fluttered down just out of reach of his groping fingers. "But I daresay when I get back to London I'd like it if it doesn't look like the same rat's nest it did when I left." After a moment he laughed. "Course, it'll probably look a fair bit worse." His voice wavered on the last word and he wordlessly accepted his card back when Carter handed it up.

That afternoon, at twenty minutes to the hour, Hogan planted himself outside barracks two, where he had a view of the distant entry to the motorpool and the row of buildings from which Schultz would emerge after giving last parting orders to his subordinates.

At ten til, he did just that, and Hogan stepped out and walked across the yard, falling behind him, completely silent, and followed him into the motorpool, nodding stiffly to the SS guards, as if it were the most natural and Klink-sanctioned activity in the whole camp.

Schultz failed to notice him, until they were well down the road, and Hogan pulled off the tarp he'd been hiding under and climbed over the back of the lorry, through the canvas flap into the passenger seat.

The guard, for his part, nearly crashed the truck, spluttering and stammering - "Co-Co-Colonel Hogan! What are you doing here! This is not allowed! This is against _all _regulations, Colonel Hogan, _please, _why must you make everything so hard, we _must _bring you back, oh, why does this always happen to _me,_ _Ach du Lieber!"_

"Schultz, Schultz!" Hogan sighed deeply. "We can't go back _now._ How are you supposed to explain it?"

Schultz's face turned bright red with irritation and he fairly shook. "Colonel Hogan, you snuck along! Like a - a - a - what are they called! The people on the ships!"

"Oh, you mean stowaways?"

"Yes! The stow-aways!" His pronunciation was more stunted and punctuated. "You were a stow-away!"

Hogan frowned. "Well, Schultz, you can't do that! How are you supposed to explain how I got here in the first place? Didn't you see me follow you in?"

"What do you mean follow _me_ in?" He jabbed a sharp thumb into his chest. "_I_ did nothing!"

"Exactly, Schultz. I was right behind you walking into the motorpool. You really think the SS guys are gonna think you didn't notice? And besides, do you really _want_ them to believe you?"

Schultz glared and Hogan went on. "Come on, I just want to come with to get the kid."

"Oooooooh!" Schultz puffed up. "Fine! No monkey business!"

"Yeah, sure, I _guess,"_ Hogan pouted and slouched back in the seat.

Schultz screwed his face in a frown and hunched over the wheel, pouting indignantly the rest of the way to the hospital.

Hogan lingered a distance away while Schultz talked to the nurse behind the desk, and then made a show of following him to Cohen's room.

They both stopped short halfway, at the sight of a scrawny little German corporal,, somehow being glared down upon by a man several inches shorter than he, babbling about some sort of regulations - or something.

"Herr Major!" He squeaked, practically leaping in front of Major Hochstetter as he tried to slip around him.

That - that was Langenscheidt, standing in front of the door, gripping his gun in both hands, eyes wide with anticipation of chilly Russian winters, Langenscheidt, denying Major Hochstetter access to the room.

"Major, the corporal is a Luftwaffe prisoner and if you wish to speak to him you must first speak with Kommandant Klink, _bitte,_ sir." He exclaimed tightly. Hogan wondered if he knew those words were coming out of his mouth.

Hochstetter grit his teeth, "Corporal."

"Hochstetter! Fancy seeing you here!" Hogan quickly stepped forward, inching himself between Hochstetter and Langenscheidt. "What brings you to this fine establishment?"

Hochstetter turned on him. "What is this man doing here, Corporal?!"

"Aaah…." Langenscheidt had frozen stiff.

"_Bitte,"_ Suddenly Schultz had worked up the guts to intervene, if a bit timidly. "I am guarding Colonel Hogan, we are here to pick up Co - the corporal." He just stopped himself from saying Cohen's name.

Hochstetter glared at him and he quickly withered back. "Colonel Hogan, I happened to be visiting a colleague - you recall the conversation from dinner the other night."

_Barnes._ Uh-oh.

"Vaguely," Hogan said casually, "What was his name? Baum - something?"

"Baumgartner, _ja. _Well, I came to see if I could identify him, and decided I may as well stop in on the little _Jude_ before I did." He turned beady eyes on Schultz. "And Corporal Langenscheidt here is a bit reluctant to let me in."

More than uh-oh. Hogan should have known. What were the chances Hochstetter would recognize Barnes?

Pretty good.

"I am sorry, Herr Major, but those are my orders, directly from the Kommandant." Granted, Langenscheidt was happily throwing the blame on Klink, but Hogan was surprised at the young man's stamina. He looked like a light breeze might knock him over, but by golly, he was going to stay planted in front of that door until it happened.

Hochstetter scowled, and pinned Hogan with a death glare.

Nobody said anything.

Hochstetter spun and strode down the hall. His subordinate quickly skittered after him.

"Langenscheidt!" Hogan exclaimed. "That was amazing!"

Langenscheidt squeaked.

Hogan patted his shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

"_Ach!_ That was wonderful, Langenscheidt," Schultz said proudly, "You did so well."

Hogan frowned at him. "I didn't see you doing anything to help. If anything, you only stirred the pot! Isn't that right?" He turned to Langenscheidt, who, rather astutely, decided to simply open the door to the room and let the Colonel and Schultz in. The conversation was left.

"Cohen." Hogan grinned at the young man sitting on the end of the bed, already back in his uniform with hands folded tightly in his lap. "You ready to go?"

"Yes _sir!"_ His voice was only slightly raspy, and Hogan pretended not to notice the sharp wince as he sprung up and saluted the Colonel.

"Well, then, let's get going." Hogan slung an arm around his shoulders and as he leaned close to Cohen, he murmured, "Follow my lead."

Cohen didn't acknowledge the soft order, he knew better than that.

As they exited the room, lead by Schultz and followed by Langenscheidt, Hogan suddenly exclaimed, "Golly!" And pointed with a comically conspicuous motion.

Both Schultz and Langenscheidt turned to the supposed surprise, and even Cohen jumped a little bit, but Hogan grabbed him and yanked him into the next room, flipping the "Do Not Disturb" sign and shutting the door softly.

"Barnes is here," He explained quietly, after checking that the occupant of the room was asleep. "And Hochstetter's going to talk to him. We need to hide him."

Cohen nodded, wide-eyed, apparently momentarily shocked speechless.

They heard Schultz and Langenscheidt begin to panic, and doors opening and shutting all around them. The doorknob creaked and Hogan started to pull Cohen back behind a wardrobe, but then the person on the other side moved on.

Hogan waited a minute or two, and then moved to the door. He cracked it slightly, peeked out, and then motioned for Cohen to follow him.

They quickly moved down the hall, to the elevator.

It was a quick ride up, and thankfully the hall was empty. Hogan lead the way to Barnes' room, and checked inside before stepping all the way in.

Again, he moved past the occupant of the first bad - his condition hadn't changed much - and stepped behind the second curtain.

Barnes was awake, and as the two entered he dropped the paperback into his lap. "Colonel?"

"Hochstetter's going to be here any minute." Hogan wasted no time.

"Oh!" Barnes shifted, trying to sit up. "Oh, well that's just perfect. What are we going to do?" He grimaced, hand moving to his chest. Cohen awkwardly helped him, still shocked speechless by confusion, concern, and the rapidly escalating sense of urgency between all three of them.

"Let me think." Hogan frowned. "They'll come in - let me think. He'd recognize Cohen, wouldn't he." And himself.

He glanced at the man in the other bed. "That's it. Barnes, lay back down."

Barnes did so, eyeing Hogan curiously, and Hogan tugged the sheets up over his head. "Alright, act dead."

"Uh, yes, sir."

"Shush! You're dead." Hogan grabbed the clipboard from the end of the bed and strode to the other occupant of the room.

He replaced that man's with Barnes' - Baumgartner's - and vice versa. "I hope we beat him with the elevator."

He looked around, waved Cohen over, and pulled him into the wardrobe against the wall.

The two of them barely fit inside, but Hogan managed to pull the door shut.

"We all good?" He called softly.

"A little cra -" Cohen started, but Hogan shushed him sharply.

The door creaked open.


	20. Chapter 20

Cohen tensed, and Hogan suddenly felt that both of their breathing was incredibly loud. And it was hot in here, all of a sudden.

Two pairs of boots knocked against the floor and Hochstetter grumbled something unintelligible.

They heard him up the clipboard, and then drop it back.

"This must be him," He said after a moment, snarling.

"Do you recognize him?" His subordinate asked.

Hochstetter scoffed. "_Nein._ I have never seen him before. He must be from a different Hammelburg."

"I don't know that there is a dif-"

"Quiet, Braun."

There was a mumbled "_Jawohl"_ and Hochstetter growled (again), and strode out.

"Waste of time," They heard as he departed.

They breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief and then Hogan started to move.

The footsteps came back.

Cohen pulled in a soft breath and Hogan froze.

The curtain slid open, there was a short pause, and then a noncommittal grunt. He walked away again.

The door closed and this time they held still for several seconds, until Hogan said, "Okay."

He pushed the door open and the two burst out, gasping for air.

Barnes pulled the sheets off of his face and shifted back up with a tight frown. "Close call."

"Boy, no kidding," Cohen agreed. "Hey, how you been?"

"Well, they took the tube out of my chest," Barnes said.

"That's a plus," Hogan moved to switch the clipboards back around.

"Hey, so what all happened, anyway?" Cohen asked. "I haven't heard anything since I left."

Hogan blinked - "That's right! You weren't there. Well, Barnes is alive."

Cohen glanced at him and ribbed, "Well, you wouldn't think it to look at him."

"I'd say the same for you," Barnes retorted, but he was smiling. "Where've you been?"

"A floor down, the past two days. Colonel Hogan needed an excuse to snoop around in here."

"You didn't get worse?" He was tiring, but doing his best to glean all the information he could.

"Just a little bit. Apparently I'm better now."

Barnes half-laughed, and winced. "Mm - well, you look like death, still."

"I did almost die. Several times." He puffed up as if it was a point of pride, and Hogan recalled using near-death experiences as bragging rites in his earlier years.

"Alright, you two sickos." He said. "We gotta get going before Schultz has a heart attack."

"Here _would_ be the place to have it."

Hogan rolled his eyes. "Barnes, when are they kicking you out of here?"

"This Saturday, Colonel. Sounds like they're giving me money for a train ticket and tossing me out. Oh, they're replacing my uniform, too."

"Newkirk'll like that," Cohen observed.

"Can you meet us at Max's? Probably a half-hour's walk from here, and safer than us picking you up right outside." Hogan frowned at him. He wasn't sure he would make it ten feet right now, but hopefully it was just because he was so tired at the moment. "How bad are you hurting?"

"I'm fine. I can make it to Max's." Barnes said, and Hogan nodded warily.

"Alright, then, that'll have to do. We'll see you then. Stay safe and stay out of Hochstetter's path."

"Will do," Barnes lifted a tired hand in good-bye and Cohen waved innocently as they left.

They found Schultz and Langenscheidt frantically searching the third floor, and if Schultz had been any more intimidating, his rant the whole way home would have been unnerving. As it was, though, it was nothing more than fair banter for Colonel Hogan and an amusing show for Cohen and Langenscheidt. The idle back-and-forth was a relief, and he enjoyed the verbal sparring, although it was not so much a spar as it was a downhill battle, an easy way to keep his wit sharp, which he liked.

It did not, however, mean that he didn't worry.

They arrived back at camp and Hogan left Cohen to be welcomed by the others, _tut_ted over by LeBeau, and silently, evaluated from a distance by Newkirk. After quickly explaining the situation with Barnes, he called Kinch into his office with a jerk of his chin.

He rambled over his concerns; Barnes was weak, could he even make it so far? What if the exertion was too much? And what if Hochstetter found him? Or if Stein and Fischer, or anybody suddenly figured out the ruse? Klink finally thought too hard about the occupants of Barracks 2, and who was and wasn't there? Because surely there were records elsewhere of Barnes' existence, it wouldn't be hard to unearth everything.

And for each issue Kinch offered a reprieve; although not always a solution. Barnes was strong, it was more than likely he'd be fine, and the people of Hammelburg were kind enough to help a man. And if the walk to Max's did cause any harm, Wilson was capable, and there wasn't much better than a capable medic. Hochstetter wasn't likely to see him, it was doubtful he spent much of his free time walking through the quaint little shops of Hammelburg. Stein and Fischer were well gone, and far too caught up in their own little Nazi propaganda machines to care much about old business. Klink was fretting enough about Hochstetter, he wasn't about to stir up more problems, and if he really did it would only be a matter of a little beer and a lot of roundabout talking.

In the end, it didn't do a lot of help, but, Hogan had long reasoned, it was better to have the confidence of your men, however misplaced he might think it was, than none at all.

"Thanks, Kinch," He sighed finally.

"We only have to hold it together until Saturday, Colonel, and then we can put this behind us," Kinch said.

Hogan smiled. "Boy. Watch, we get Barnes back Saturday and Sunday London'll want us to blow something up."

"Hey, Carter'll be happy."

They chuckled, and had stood to rejoin the group when the conversation in the other room turned into several excited exclamations, and there was a rattle of furniture as people crowded around the door.

Hogan and Kinch exchanged glances and Hogan quickly opened the door. "What's going on?"

Everyone was clustered around the door and window, and Olsen said eagerly, "I think the SS-men are packing up, Colonel!"

"They are not -" Hogan was quickly granted the front-row peephole, and he frowned out the crack in the door. "They are!"

Sure enough, the guards were climbing up into the waiting trucks, and Hochstetter stood next to Klink and Captain Gruber. Hochstetter looked to be seething, Klink giddy, and Gruber mostly tired and a bit out-of-place.

"Hmm." Hogan walked across the compound, and greeted them with an animated cheeriness. "Hello! Kommandant, Major, Captain. Sad to see you leaving so suddenly, Major, what happened?"

Hochstetter snarled and Klink answered, "Major Hochstetter's superiors -"

"KLINK!" The man thundered, and Gruber flinched. "Does the _prisoner_ need to know our business?"

"Oh, well, ah -" Klink half-giggled. "I suppose not, Herr Major, quite right. Hogan!" He turned on the Colonel. "You are dismissed."

Hogan huffed. "Fine. I can tell when I'm not wanted." He gave Klink a spitefully proper salute, spun on his heel, and strode back to Barracks 2.

He stopped just outside the building as the last of the trucks moved forward, and several others came out to watch as it rolled out, the guards shutting the gates so quickly it was almost treason.

Hogan sighed happily, "Fellas," He said, "There goes the most miserable little man in the whole Third Reich."


	21. Chapter 21

**Hi.**

**Uh, really sorry for not updating for over a month. Oops.**

**But it's done now! I have to say there's like a dozen things I would have done differently, but if I spent forever changing little details and plot points this thing would never have happened, so thanks all for liking my first chapter so much that you wanted more. I had an awesome time writing this.**

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday came and went, and Hogan began to berate himself for suggesting that Barnes _walk_ to Max's. He had to be hurting! How much could a man heal in four days? Certainly, the people of Hammelburg were kind enough - despite the political unrest they kept a homely, small-town feeling about them; at least the Hammelburg natives did. There were plenty of newcomers who didn't share the same kindness. And Gestapo - how _stupid_ was he? Sending an injured man out into Gestapo-infested streets!

Okay, that might have been a bit dramatic. But he was not happy with the situation, and over the weekend he realized his anxiety seemed to increase as everyone else's smoothed over. Save for Davis, who was irritated to no end that he wouldn't be able to come into town to get Barnes. His German just wasn't all that great, and besides he'd been elected part of the road-work detail.

As such, he and most of the barracks were gone when Hogan, Newkirk, and Addison prepared to leave. Newkirk, Hogan wanted because he was slippery, and quick on his feet and an impressive shot. Addison, he admitted, he only had because he hadn't been chosen for the work detail, but he was strong and observant and caring and could probably run pretty fast.

The three were dressed in civilian clothes and easily snuck out of the tunnel, the guards being occupied with the work detail.

The car was waiting where it always was - thankfully, the motorpool sergeant hadn't seemed to think much of it, as he usually didn't. In a different situation, Hogan would have erred on the side of caution and waited until the Gestapo tension cooled down before trying to use the car again, but he didn't want to make Barnes walk all the way back from town. As it was, there was still a walk from town to their hiding spot, and then to the tunnel.

Wilson had been surprisingly positive about his injuries after he'd had more time to heal. Only speculation, he'd emphasized, but wasn't everything at this point?

Even wary as it was, Wilson's nod was enough to instill a bit of confidence in Hogan.

So now his worries were much more of the typical concerns of sneaking into a town in Nazi Germany - patrols, recognition, being missed back at camp, running out of gas.

Thankfully, the first part of the trip brought nothing of the sort, and they parked in the turn-off that used to lead to a small hunting shack. It had been long since abandoned - how were you supposed to hunt without guns? - and it was only a short walk back down the road into town.

He lead the way through the forest, Newkirk meandering just behind him and Addison several feet back. The foliage was thick, but loose enough and not so muddy that they left very conspicuous footprints.

They made it to the outskirts of town without event, and easily snuck into the suburbs, and then downtown.

Here, there were people everywhere. Hammelburg was small, but not so small that everyone knew each other. It was the perfect size for Hogan's operation.

Max's grocery store was a cheery-looking little shop stuck inbetween a empty building and a deli, and its location was, just like Hammelburg, such that it was easily to slip into unnoticed but not full of suffocating crowds.

Sitting on one side of the counter, behind the register and eyeing his patrons suspiciously, was Max. Sitting on a stool on the other side, leaned against the wall with a newspaper spread before him, was Barnes.

He made eye contact with Hogan as they walked in and smiled, and then glanced at the others in the store.

They wandered around, picking out a few onions and tomatoes that LeBeau had wanted, until the other customers had left.

The little bell dinged as the last person left, and Hogan asked immediately, "How are you?"

"Oh, fine," He stood up and grimaced. Addison stepped up next to him, eyeing him carefully, and Barnes nodded. "I'm okay."

"You make it okay?" Hogan asked.

"I made it," He said. "How's it going back at camp?"

"Well, Klink's being Klink." Hogan said. "I'm sure you're anxious to get back."

"Oh, just desperate, sir," Barnes sighed.

"Is everything alright at camp?" Max asked. "This is quite the situation for your man to end up in."

"It's a long story," Hogan said. "And you don't want to hear it. But we're okay now - rocky for a while there, but now we're just plain old miserable again."

Max shrugged. "Good to hear, I suppose. Take care." He saw them to the door, scanning the street for any suspicious characters (besides themselves) and then gave Barnes a pat on the shoulder and went back to his shop.

They spread out to avoid being conspicuous, Hogan taking the lead, Addison and Barnes some distance behind - Barnes kept his hands stubbornly in the pockets of his new Gestapo uniform, refusing to show any wear despite his pale color and slumped shoulders. Newkirk followed even further behind, and once when Hogan dared to glance back he saw him disappear into an alleyway.

Good.

The houses thinned out and, walking through a farmer's field to the treeline, Newkirk jogged up next to him. They reached the treeline and waited for Barnes and Addison to join him, and, after looking Barnes up and down, Hogan nodded to move on.

They reached the car and Hogan finally spoke, "You doing okay?"

Barnes nodded. "Fine." Despite that, his face was worked into a soft frown and his hunch had gotten worse since they'd started.

Hogan exchanged a knowing glance with the other two, and said, "Alright, hop in, fellas."

They climbed in, and, glancing at Barnes' face in the rearview mirror, Hogan knew the walk had been harder on him than they let on. Clearly the others could tell, too, but they stayed silent about it.

Partway through the silent drive home, Hogan said, "Barnes, when we get back, we're gonna have Wilson take a look at you."

"Yep," He whispered. He carefully leaned forward, resting his head on his folded hands, trying rather miserably to stay nonchalant.

Addison gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and he opened one eye to smile at the other man.

When they reached the spot where they hid the car, the sun was lowering in the sky and Hogan knew they needed to hurry if they wanted to make it before roll call.

"You think you can make it?" He glanced back at Barnes.

He picked up his head. "Oh. Yeah. I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Hogan frowned.

They got out of the car and Barnes stumbled, only just catching himself on Addison - or rather, Addison just caught him.

He stood still for a moment, face twisted in a tight grimace, before he drew a breath and straightened. "I'll be okay."

Still, he kept his arm on Addison's shoulder the entire way back, and when they'd finally managed to get down the tree stump, he sank down onto the bench just inside the tunnel, sighing heavily.

"How bad is it?" Newkirk asked.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Not so bad, really, least not as bad as it was… just sore, walking that far."

"Hey, then you just wait there for a bit," Hogan said.

"No," He shook his head. "I haven't seen anybody in ages, Colonel, I can at least make it up top." He pushed himself up again, waving away the hand Newkirk held out. "I gotta get changed."

The three exchanged glances behind his back as he left to the other room.

"Inn't he gonna hurt himself?" Newkirk asked.

"How was he, on the way back?" Hogan murmured, glancing at Addison.

He shrugged. "He oughtta okay. I've had - seen worse."

Hogan nodded slowly. "Well, all of us should be in bed in - half an hour here, anyways." At least this mission hadn't resulted in any lost sleep.

Barnes reappeared, his uniform a little looser than it had been before, but nevertheless he wore it proudly as he followed the others up the ladder.

Hogan knocked on the bottom and in a second and a half the pulleys squeaked as the bunk rose and there was a volley of exclamations from above.

Barnes was quickly sat down at the table and LeBeau pushed a hot bowl of soup and cup of coffee under his nose. Davis sat next to him and Garlotti across.

"Hi," Barnes grinned awkwardly at him. "I guess you made it back okay, then?"

"Yeah," Garlotti said. "Uh, sorry for thinking you were dead."

Barnes shrugged. "Sorry for almost being dead," He lifted the coffee mug to take a sip.

"Yeah," Davis nudged him with his elbow. "You should be."

Barnes snorted, coffee flying into his face.

"Hot!" He exclaimed, but he was still laughing, wiping the coffee away from his face. "Crud, it hurts to laugh."

"It really wasn't that funny." Davis rolled his eyes.

"No, I know," He said. "I just haven't in forever. This is _stupid,_ why am I so glad to be back? This place stinks." He rubbed his eyes.

"You a little tired, Barnes?" Hogan asked proddingly.

He sighed. "A little." His laughter subsided and he turned back to the soup. "This stuff's good."

Newkirk raised an eyebrow. "Now what kind of drugs have _you_ been on?"

"I wouldn't know," Barnes shrugged. "I was unconscious."

Carter chuckled.

"Oh, not you too!" Newkirk flung his hands up.

"I dunno, it's just funny, is all," Carter's grin grew wider - and then abruptly disappeared when the barracks door swung open.

Barnes choked on his soup and sat coughing and wincing while Schultz stared at him, frozen, and the others stared at Schultz, also frozen.

Finally Kinch reached forward and gave Barnes a hearty thump on the back. He recovered his breath and took a sip of coffee, cleared his throat, and said cooly, "Hi, Schultz."

Schultz stared at him, confused. "Barnes?"

"That's me, yeah, what's up?"

Schultz eyed him for several more seconds, and then slowly turned his attention to Colonel Hogan. "Kommandant Klink has ordered me to take a headcount, we are not having roll call."

"Oh, how come?" Boy, _that_ would've been nice to know.

He shrugged dramatically. "He seems to be in a bad mood."

"Barmaid disappoint again?" Baker asked with a sly grin.

"Hoo!" Schultz shook his head. "_Ein, zwie, drie_… da, da, and thirteen - fifteen?" He looked up. "Colonel Hogan, I thought there were fourteen men in this barracks."

"Well, I don't know what you're talking about, Schultz." Hogan said innocently. "We've had fifteen since March."

"_Was _\- but - who is extra?" Schultz roamed about the room, studying each occupant carefully.

He paused when he saw Barnes but then said. "But - you are always here."

"That's right, Schultz." Barnes said, bored.

"You don't look so good." Schultz said. "Are you sick?"

He got defensive. "Well, you'd feel pretty crummy too, if _you _were a prisoner of war!"

"Sheesh." Schultz backed off. "I am sorry. Alright, fifteen men." He glanced at Colonel Hogan. "It is not going to change - is it?"

Hogan grinned. "I sure hope not, Schultz."

"Hmm," Schultz frowned, his mustache twitching. "Colonel Hogan, this doesn't make sense. I could have sworn there were fourteen."

Everyone groaned and Hogan sid, "Well, you can count again, Schultz, but it's getting late and we've got tunnels to dig."

"Hmmf! Jolly joker." Schultz paced around the room again, stopping in front of Cohen. "You - you belong here."

"Not really, I don't," Cohen said. "I'd much rather be in America. You can send me that way if you like, get your fourteen count that you want."

Schultz huffed again and moved on.

"Maybe it was 'cuz' Cohen was in the hospital that you got used to fourteen," Foster offered.

Schultz considered this a moment, and then grinned. "Ah, yes, that must be it."

"Alright, then. Good night already, we're tired," LeBeau waved him off.

"I don't get any of that soup?"

"_Non!_ I'm saving the leftovers for lunch tomorrow. Go away!"

Schultz curled his lip up and muttered a few mockeries, but left, and Hogan said, "Well, that went well."

"Yeah, Colonel, how'd you account for me being gone anyways?" Barnes asked.

"Oh, you just ceased to exist. We'll sneak your paperwork back in with the rest tomorrow. For now," He waved his hand around and then buried a yawn in his elbow. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm hitting the hay - and you are, too," He pointed to Barnes.

"I feel fine," He protested.

"Well, you can go to sleep, or we can have Wilson come look you over."

Barnes stood up. "Oh, well, wouldn't want to wake the medic, then -" He paused, blinking.

"Lightheaded?" LeBeau asked.

"Just a little."

"Take my bunk," Davis offered. "And you won't have to haul yourself up."

Barnes nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Hey, and if you get sick or anything, better to lose a little sleep than for us to find you dead tomorrow, okay?" Hogan gave him a pointed look.

"Yeah, good idea," He plunked down on Davis' bunk and reached for his shoelaces.

With that, everyone moved to get ready for bed, and Hogan strode towards his office, patting Addison on the shoulder and ruffling Cohen's hair as he passed.

He shut the door behind him and peeled off his clothes, and yawned again. The light under the door went out and he heard several murmured "Good-night"s amidst creaking bunks.

He pulled himself up into his own bed, and didn't let himself wish for a thicker blanket or fuller mattress.

He tucked his hands behind his head and let his eyes drift shut.

There were fourteen men in the other room, all safe, all healthy and fed and with a full night's sleep ahead of them.

They were also prisoners, thousands of miles away from home. They also had months, probably years of hard work, late nights, and constant danger ahead of them. There were future injuries and deaths that were simply coming with nothing to do about it, and the very real possibility of all of them being discovered and wiped out in a matter of hours was never far off.

But for now, they were asleep. Safe. Breathing. For now, everyone was okay.

For now, it was good enough.

**The last scene is dedicated to my dear cousin, Dancing Narwhals or whatever her username is (I can't find it), because that's usually what we sound like when we hang out. Dancing Narwhals, if you ever get around to reading this, which would truly shock and amaze me, please leave a review so I can follow you even if you never post anything. And also so I can up that review count. Thanks.**


End file.
